Prisoner of the Mind
by Madam RedRose25
Summary: What was meant to be a tutoring lesson throws Stan into a nightmare he could never have imagined. Now kidnapped and held in a basement, he's forced to go into the deepest parts of his mind by his captor. Meanwhile, family and friends are busy pointing fingers, trying to make sense of Stan's disappearance. Either someone rescues him, or Stan has to find a way out all his own.
1. Math Sucks

_**PRISONER OF THE MIND**_

_A/N: This idea is based off a suggestion from someone in which Stan is kidnapped. I told myself it wasn't something I felt I could write, especially after How the Darkness Sounds, but then ideas came into place, allowing me to put a spin on the original idea. Plus, it has been years since I wrote an actual chapter story. I hope you enjoy this one. Thanks._

**MATH SUCKS**

_March 3__rd__, 2019_

It was a normal enough Sunday evening in the Marsh home. Shelley was watching TV while Sharon was busy in the kitchen fixing dinner. Stan was sitting at the breakfast table doing his homework. He flipped through his Reading Adventures textbook at the questions written at the end of a story they had read the other day. He was supposed to answer ten questions about the story, The Mighty Quest by J.M. Lorrie, but it was the first lesson they had had Friday morning, and it now being Sunday, he had forgotten most of what the story was about.

_Question 3: When Franklin finally met Queen Trishna, what was he feeling and why? _

Stan bit his lip as he tapped his pencil to his temple. He knew it was vital for Franklin to go into the town of Alexandria, but why? He obviously met with this Queen Trishna person so he had to of felt relieved, right? No, that was too obvious an answer. He flipped around the pages of the story again. It was six pages long. Did he really feel like rereading it? He had no choice if this paper was due tomorrow. Grumbling, he pushed aside his notebook and pencil and began to read.

"I really wish you didn't wait until the last minute to do your homework Stan," Sharon spoke as she went about gathering a few spices off the spice rack and adding it to the pot on the stove.

"I don't. Usually. I just had stuff to do this weekend."

At that moment the floor rumbled and the house shook slightly. A few seconds later it happened again.

"You know I really wish your father would just give up whatever the hell he's doing in the basement. It's really becoming a nuisance," Sharon glared into the pot of chili on the stove.

"I'm sure he'll crack and tell us soon," Stan shrugged.

Silence again for the next ten minutes. Suddenly the lights began to flicker and the sounds of Randy's cursing pervaded the air, even if he was a floor below.

"That's it," Sharon set aside the spoon that was in her hand. "Stanley, go downstairs and find out what your father is up to."

"But Mom, my homework"-

"Just tell me before I find out in some other unpleasant way."

Sighing, Stan closed his textbook and went over to the basement door. He carefully made his way down to a slightly smoky room and his father bent over something on his work bench.

"Dad?" Stan called.

"Ahh! What the hell?" Randy cried, quickly draping whatever he had with him with a tarp.

"Mom wants to know what you're doing down here."

Randy frowned as he glanced at his tarp. "Pfff, I'm not telling her, she won't understand. She'll just shoot it down as one of my usual stupid ideas."

Stan glanced behind him. "Then tell me."

"Pfff, I'm not telling you, you'll just shoot it down as one of my usual stupid ideas," Randy repeated.

Stan opened his mouth to argue this but found that this statement held some truth. He cleared his throat. "Really Dad, I wanna know. It might be cool. I mean, you're close to blowing up the whole basement so it has to be somewhat interesting."

Randy contemplated this for a few seconds. Finally a grin broke on his face and he uncovered what was hidden under the tarp- a beer bottle.

Stan raised a brow at it. "Beer? Dad, I don't think Mom or I will be too surprised to see"-

"You don't understand what this represents. It represents hours of hard work so that I can unveil _this_!" Randy uncovered what looked to be pots, bottles, tubing, and a beer keg.

"I still don't"-

"This is my own creation Stan! I've spent hours perfecting it over the past few months and now, finally, I think I've gotten it right. This is more than just some beer Stanley; this is my pride and joy."

"Gee, thanks," Stan said sarcastically.

Randy pulled out a sheet of paper from his back pocket and smoothed it out on the bench for his son to see. "Look here son, the Coor's Light Company is holding a contest: create the next blend for their new winter brew for this upcoming holiday season. Winner gets a tour of the Coor's Light Company, their creation will be sold in stores all over the country, they will star in the commercial, and best of all, they will get an undisclosed sum of the profits from the new brew. How amazing does that all sound?"

"So you're saying what you have there is your very own beer?"

"Technically it's an ale, but yes, it is my very own recipe," Randy smiled proudly, holding up the single bottle to the light.

"And you could win money if they choose yours as the winning brew?"

"Yes, are you deaf?" Randy rolled his eyes.

Stan rubbed his chin. "You know, that does sound pretty cool actually."

"It does?" Randy looked surprised.

"Yeah, it's not something someone usually does, right? Sure people try to come up with their own, I dunno, apple pie recipe or even some cocktail, but to make your own beer? That's cool."

"Thank-you son. See Sharon? Stan thinks it's cool," Randy shouted up.

Stan gave him a confused look. "I thought you didn't tell Mom yet."

"Oh yeah. Guess I should. Hiding in the basement all night after work might become suspicious."

_As if you weren't already acting suspicious?_ Stan thought. He cleared his throat. "So how will you know if it's a hit? When's the deadline to turn in the brew?"

"Deadline is April 17th. I'm going to load up this kegger and take it to work tomorrow. After everyone at the office gets off, we'll kick back and enjoy some. Then I'll know if I have a hit or not."

Stan looked at the bottle for a couple seconds. "Hey Dad… can I have a taste?"

"_What_?" Randy gave him a disgusted look. "Of course not! You're ten in case you forgot."

"But I did drink whiskey before. Remember? Surely beer isn't as bad."

Randy rolled his eyes as he set aside some things on his work bench. "No Stanley. Alcohol consumption at ten years old is not good. And you promised your mother and I you wouldn't touch anything until you knew you were ready to handle it. You tried to do some stupid things after we found out about your little 'whiskey' habit. Remember?"

Stan growled; he hated being reminded of the ass he had made himself out to be after he voluntarily drank whiskey after he was falsely diagnosed to having Asperger's Syndrome. Not like he wanted to drink, he _was_ still a kid. But sometimes he couldn't help but ask to try a sip of whatever his parents were drinking at the moment. Five minutes later Sharon called them both up for dinner. The dinner table was quiet for the first few minutes. Sharon kept glancing at her husband and son, expecting one of them to spill what was going on in the basement.

"So… how was everyone's day today?" she asked around.

No one said anything at first.

"Umm, kind of boring. Kyle was at his Jewish day camp thing so only Cartman and Kenny were available," Stan shrugged.

"I see. Did you do anything fun?"

"Just hung around at the park with our bikes and such. Cartman got really jealous of my new bike but what's new?" Stan spoke as he dug into his bowl of chili.

"Mm-hmm," Sharon nodded before looking over to Randy. "Well Randy? Want to tell me about your day?"

"What? You think I have anything to add to this conversation? I was hanging around the bar with the guys Sharon."

"Dad just give it up, she's going to find out soon enough," Stan exasperated.

Randy glared at his son before turning to his wife. "Damnit… fine, I've been working on a winning formula for the next winter brew for Coor's Light. Winner gets a bunch of cool prizes."

Sharon looked surprised and sat in thought for a few seconds before returning to her food. "Wow, that sounds…interesting."

"Does it?" Randy looked back, not knowing if she was being honest.

"I mean, it's not something too outrages. Nothing like your past ideas like cock magic or pretending to like Tween Wave music. Do you have an actual recipe yet?"

"I do. I've been perfecting it for months and I might have finally gotten it just right. If you um, want to sample it… I can bring up a bottle," Randy rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sure, I'd like to taste it if I can."

An idea where both his wife and son were supportive of? Randy could hardly believe it, but he was happy nonetheless. After dinner Randy decided to come up with a bottle of his own craft beer for Sharon to try. She was currently passing around slices of chocolate cake for dessert. "Here you go my love, this might pair well with dessert tonight," he smiled as he handed her the beer.

Curious, Sharon took a sip. Randy bit his lip and cupped his hands together in anticipation.

"Well? Well? Is it awful? Just tell me now, I can take it," he said dramatically.

Sharon took another sip. "Actually, it's really nice. This is really good Randy. How did you do it?"

Stan looked back and forth between his parents, eyes wide, as if wondering whether his mother was making a joke.

"Well I'm not going to tell you exactly how I did it, this is worth money Sharon. But you really like it?"

Sharon nodded. "I don't drink beer too often but I can tell you right now that what you have there is a great contender. Imagine having this to serve during Thanksgiving this year?"

Randy appeared to be radiating joy at that moment. "Thanks a lot honey. Wow, I can't wait to have everyone at work try his out now." With that he hurried back down to the basement.

Stan turned to his mother. "Were you telling him the truth just now?"

"Yes, your father may have some stupid ideas but this time I can really see something amazing coming from this beer of his." Sharon finally sat down with some cake for herself. "Oh, Stan, I hope you completed all of your homework due tomorrow."

"_Yes_ Mom," Stan rolled his eyes as he drank some milk with his dessert.

"Because tomorrow is the start of parent-teacher conferences so I hope I get a good report on you this week."

Stan's eyes dilated for a second; he had forgotten all about dreaded parent-teacher conferences beginning tomorrow. He gave a tiny cough as a reply. Nothing else was said and he soon finished his cake and retreated upstairs to go on his computer, just in case he only had a couple more days left to do so. Stan was of course dreading the event like the majority of kids were. He had an idea of how he was fairing in class but he didn't know the actual letter grades he received in each subject. He would find out that Thursday night after his mother came home from her meeting with Mr. Garrison. There the two would be going over Stan's report card and he would see which one of two things happened: he had good grades and would be free to play and love life for a few more months, or he had bad grades and would be in for a long lecture from his parents, and possible grounding time. Stan already knew the report cards had been completed by now and his homework for this week wouldn't count on it, however he still did double-check his reading assignment just before bed, in case he did need a jump-start into the new trimester.

_March 7__th_

Once his mother left the door at 4:45 that Thursday evening, Stan let out a nervous breath and turned on a game on his PS4, savoring the final time he would be able to do so after tonight. He'd be okay; he knew what subjects he was good at and which he wasn't; he knew what his parents would have to say about them and that would be that.

"Hello Mrs. Marsh, glad you could make it," Mr. Garrison greeted when she stepped into his classroom.

"I'm hoping to hear some good news," Sharon said as she took a seat at one of the front desks.

Mr. Garrison pulled out a folded tan colored sheet of paper and passed it along. "See for yourself."

Sharon broke the seal and looked at how her son was doing in fourth grade as of now. Each subject was broken down into subcategories such as 'follows directions', 'writes legibly', 'works well with others', 'understands concepts' and things of that nature with a number next to it with a one through four scale, four being the worst. Next to each subject all the scores were rounded up to an actual letter grade. Sharon was pleased she saw many ones and twos on the paper, with a three thrown in twice. Overall it was a good report from what she saw so far.

_Language Arts Reading: A-_

_Writing: B+_

_Social Studies: B+_

_Science: B-_

_Art: C_

_Physical Education: A_

But that's when she frowned at the one subject she feared most for her son-

_Understands basic math concepts: 2_

_Understands multiplication: 3_

_Understands division: 4_

_Understands decimals: 3_

_Understands fractions: 4_

_Understands place value: 3_

_Understands area and perimeter: 4_

_Uses correct units of measure: 2_

_Effort: 3_

_Mathematics: D_

Sharon looked up at Mr. Garrison, shock clearly on her face. Mr. Garrison sighed and took a seat in front of her.

"I'm assuming you are wondering about his math scores."

Sharon shook her head slowly. "I- I don't understand. A- a D? How? I mean sure he's always had trouble in that subject but…a D?"

Mr. Garrison took a moment to answer, trying to be as understanding and sensitive about the topic as he could. He didn't need parents to go to the principal saying their meetings with him were a joke and he didn't care about his students at all. He didn't, but still… to avoid such discussions…

"I know there is a lot nine and ten-year-olds are expected to learn Mrs. Marsh," he began. "And when they get to fourth grade they are hit with a lot of new ways of doing things. Stanley's always had trouble since kindergarten. Unfortunately he really hasn't been performing as well as one would want."

Sharon still looked a little thrown off. "He's always had troubles but he's always been able to scrape by. I've never seen a grade this low for his overall math score. What does this mean?"

Mr. Garrison sighed. "Like I mentioned, there is a lot fourth-graders need to learn in math. Most of the students grasp it enough. Some take longer than others but in the end I don't have a class full of retards."

Sharon glared.

Mr. Garrison coughed. "But um- your son doesn't do what the other students do when he has trouble. He doesn't ask for help and there are inconsistences in his work. Some worksheets have perfect scores, others he fails. I think he might be copying from his friend Kyle sometimes. At the end of the day he still gets low scores on math tests."

"Oh Stanley…" Sharon said heavily. "What can I do? He obviously can't continue doing math work like this. All those times I ask him how school was... He tells me how well he's been doing in language arts and P.E. but when I ask how math is, he just tells me 'nothing new.' I should have pressed for real answers long ago."

Mr. Garrison got up from his seat to get a paper from his desk then sat back down and faced the mother.

"There are a few options available to get Stanley help. But I think it's best to eliminate the first. Another student."

Sharon nodded. "I don't know what I was thinking, believing he would get help from Kyle. He's a smart kid but no way will Stan pay attention to someone teaching him school work if it's his best friend."

"He could get help from an older student, someone in the sixth grade but I don't know if that would help," Mr. Garrison shrugged.

Sharon shook her head. "I don't want another student helping him; it would be too much distraction."

Mr. Garrison nodded and went to option two. "You could enroll him in one of those special homework help centers around the state. They're run by adults and offer help in all sorts of subjects. He could get extra help in other subjects he sucks at too. There's a place thirty minutes from here called Markenson's Learning Center. Tutoring, homework help, and a special break and snack room. At least that's what it says here…" he refereed back to his paper.

Sharon thought for a second. "Hmm, that does sound nice. But I don't know if my husband will want to pay for something like that. There has to be a more affordable option to get our son help. What's option three?"

Mr. Garrison looked up. "The school has Tutor Groups that take place after school. The fourth grade math group meets every Thursday after school in an unused classroom."

"Okay. What exactly is it? How is it run?"

Mr. Garrison sighed; he really wanted to get through his conferences with the parents quickly to go home for the day. He hated this time of the year.

"A teacher- not myself- helps students out who are having difficulties. It doesn't cost a thing. Students struggling meet after school for tutoring. It could be just the thing for Stanley."

Ten minutes later Sharon left, head full of many thoughts. She tried to calm herself since the ride home was less than ten minutes away. Her son was borderline failing math. But he was doing well in his other subjects, he didn't need to be yelled at. He had been struggling for years, it wasn't like this was intentional was it? He just needed extra help, a little boost in the subject to raise his grade and the after school group sounded great. But she knew how he would react to it. She wasn't looking forward to it but she was the parent and had to put her foot down for what was best for her child. And before she knew it- she was home.

"So how'd it go?" Randy asked from the TV, the usual beer in hand.

Sharon sighed. "Shelley, go upstairs, Dad and I need to speak with your bother in private."

Shelley snickered as she went up the stairs. Stan frowned.

"What is it? I'm- I'm not doing that bad am I?"

"The good things- you have an overall A in Language Arts, in PE, and your extracurricular activity, football. You also have a B in social studies. Mr. Garrison wrote here that you work very well both on your own and with peers. But Stanley…Stan, you have a D in math."

Stan's stomach plummeted. "I- I do?"

Randy took hold of his report card and scanned it. "Oh god Stanley, three 3's _and_ three 4's? Are you not even trying anymore?"

"Randy we are _not_ going to handle it like this again, understand?" Sharon glared. She had to compose herself because she wanted to yell at their son too but yelling would get no answers from him. It hadn't in the past; it was time for a new direction. "Stanley, why do you think Mr. Garrison gave you this grade?"

Stan was looking at the carpet now; he shrugged. "I dunno, he just likes exaggerating things Mom. He's a bad teacher."

"The thing is Stanley; you've had problems with math since kindergarten. This isn't the first time we've gotten back a report like this. Perhaps not exactly like this but we have seen 3's and 4's in your mathematics grade for years," Sharon tried explaining.

Stan was feeling defensive now. He glared as he looked to the floor, hands in pockets. "It's not that bad…" he mumbled.

"Not that bad? You have a _D_ Stan! You've never had a D as your final grade!" Randy pointed out.

"It's not my fault! The stuff we've been learning's been really hard!" Stan cried.

"If you were having problems why didn't you ask for help?" Sharon asked.

"Like I'm going to ask Mr. Garrison for help?" Stan rolled his eyes.

"Then why don't you ask Dad or I? You know I don't mind if you ask me for help," Sharon pressed.

Stan shrugged again. He didn't like asking because he would feel stupid. His mom was busy going back to school for a nursing degree so he didn't want to bother her, and his dad simply didn't take over homework help. And so what if he had a D? The last math test they took was hard. How was he supposed to remember everything that was taught the past two months? A lot happened in his life since then, he had other stuff to worry about. He could bring his grade up no problem. His parents were worried over nothing.

Sharon sighed and had Stan sit at the dining room table. She set the report card to the side.

"The thing is Stan, Mr. Garrison is worried too. Don't give me that look young man, he _does_ care. He was surprised to see this grade too and he wants you to get extra help," the mother went on.

"Oh my god you guys are making a big deal out of this! I don't need 'extra help'. I have Kyle…" Stan put his face in his hand.

Sharon and Randy shared a look.

"Doesn't look like he's been of much help has he?" Randy raised a brow.

"I'm pretty sure you two spend more time goofing around than helping," Sharon interjected.

"He helps! Really!" Yet Stan's stomach twisted again- he knew Kyle had passed math with an A+ this trimester. If Kyle was properly tutoring his friend his grade would have been higher.

"Listen Stan, you need extra help. I know it's not what you want to hear but this has gone on way too far. We should have intervened long ago. I'm sorry we didn't step in when you clearly needed extra help on the subject," Sharon said concerned.

"You- you don't need to be. It's no biggie. I'll just try harder," Stan said uncomfortable.

Words his parents heard so many times now Sharon pretended she didn't hear them.

"Mr. Garrison told me about something that could help. It's called MathQuest."

Stan's eyes grew as round as his head. "_What_? Not MathQuest! Don't you know? That's the group for the really slow kids!"

Randy looked at the paper that held information on the group. "Hmm… sounds pretty reasonable…"

"No, you guys can't put me in there; I'll be the laughing stock of my class!"

"Stanley, if it can help you with this math problem you have"-

"It won't! I just need to study more. And I will this time, promise!"

Randy and Sharon looked to each other. Randy gave a nod and she knew he was on the same page as her for once.

"Dad and I think it will be a good thing to put you in there. If it can help than that can only be a positive thing," Sharon tried.

"No! No please! Please don't make me go! I promise I'll try harder! Promise!" Stan pleaded, eyes stinging.

"The group meets every Thursday after school for forty minutes. You will meet with the other kids in the group in one of the sixth grade classrooms. Sixth grade teacher Mr. Ryland is the instructor for the fourth grade MathQuest," Sharon explained over Stan's protests.

"The guys will rip on me for this. Not even Cartman goes to one of these Quest groups! And I _know_ he has worse grades than me!" the boy argued.

"You don't have bad grades honey; you have four As, two Bs, and one C. That's very good. You just need an extra push in one area, that's all," Sharon touched his arm as he put his face in his arms. "Sweetie…"

"Everyone's gonna think I'm stupid," he moaned.

"You aren't stupid and you know that. I had problems with math growing up as well. Randy?" Sharon looked up to her husband, wanting him to say something to make their son feel better.

"Um, well, I didn't have such issues with math when I was your age. You need to try harder son," were Randy's words of wisdom.

"I'm trying as much as I can," Stan mumbled.

"Well now you have no choice in the matter. Now it's up to Mom and I as to what to do about this grade," Randy pointed a heavy finger at the report card.

Stan groaned. "Are you really gonna put me in there?"

Sharon and Randy shared a look and they both nodded. Stan moaned and put his face in his arms again as if this were his death sentence. What a joke! How dare Mr. Garrison suggest such a stupid thing? A special tutoring class after school? It wouldn't work, he knew it. So what if he always had problems with math? Maybe this time studying really hard on his own would be all he needed to raise his grade. Not surrounded by a bunch of losers that also couldn't do math. The kids in school no one liked in the first place because they needed help in certain subjects. There was no way he could get out of his friends finding out. And once they did he would be the butt of all sorts of new jokes. The 'oversensitive animal lover' of the group had now become 'the dumb kid.'

It was now past six so Randy got up to order pizza for dinner. Stan didn't want to look like an idiot if Shelley came down when the pizza got here so he pulled his head up and wiped his face. Now that his parents were out of the area he grabbed his report card to read it over himself. He had to admit, those four As were pretty sweet and made him feel slightly smarter. He had studied really hard for his last social studies test and the good grade he got on it turned that B- into a B+. He was told by all sorts of adults he was a smart kid but he didn't know why. Kyle was the one who had report cards with nothing but As. Stan always had a mix of As, Bs, and Cs. _And now a D_. He couldn't remember the last time he got such a low final grade. He wasn't smart. He had good grades in language arts because it was easy enough to read a story and answer questions about it. He knew all about proper punctuation and could write good stories and poems if he put his mind to it. PE and football were no-brainers. He had always been on top of any sport he tried. He had a mild interest of the world so social studies and history could be fun.

_How can you remember how to draw a replica map of Colorado but you can't divide two and eight?_ Stan thought to himself. Dinner was uncomfortable; Shelley wanted to know all that had happened when she had gone upstairs earlier, she even asked around what grades her little brother had received. Her parents told her it was not her concern and left it at that. The rest of the night was depressing in Stan's mind; he picked at his dessert and took a long bath, thinking more than anything. When his mother came into his room to kiss him goodnight he sighed and faced the wall.

Sharon placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're not trying to be unfair Stan; this is just something we have to do. We're really happy with your grades overall; you just need extra help in one area."

Stan sighed deeply but didn't move. Sharon still kissed him on the cheek and left.

As expected that Friday all of Stan's friends wanted to discuss their grades with each other. Unlike the others Stan left his report card at home.

"Well nothing here that's surprising," Butters spoke, looking down Kyle's report card.

"Only a few 2's in the behavior part but so what? Thankfully my mom didn't get on my case for it," Kyle looked over the blond boy's shoulder.

"Ha! Kenny you suck!" Cartman pointed at Kenny's report card.

"Your grades are hardly any better!" he said angrily.

"So what did you get Stan?" Kyle looked over at him. "Did Mr. Garrison rat you out about anything this time?"

Stan shrugged, looking to the ground. "You know, same ol'."

"Then where's your report card?" Cartman demanded.

"Why does it matter? It's my business," Stan glared.

Cartman chuckled. "I bet you have an F or something, you're hiding something. That's why you didn't bring it."

"I have the same grades as I always do! Good at the same stuff, suck at the same stuff…"

"Did you finally fail math or something?" Cartman continued.

"_No_!"

"Stan's right dude, it's not our business," Kyle spoke.

"I actually have four A's so just shut up," Stan told Cartman.

He may have gotten away from spilling his horrible math grade to them today but he knew they would find out sooner rather than later. But it didn't mean he wasn't going to do what he could to prevent them from finding out he had to go to MathQuest; Kyle was already giving him the look that said 'I think you're hiding something'. Saturday came as did Kyle, over to the Marsh house. Time to make the most of the weekend as usual. Even though Stan didn't want to let him in on his secret he couldn't say no to him coming by so the two went about playing with some of Stan's cooler toys. Thirty minutes into racing cars on a Hot Wheels track Kyle decided to break the ice.

"So, what did you get on your report card anyway?" he asked casually.

"Why does it matter?" Stan frowned, stopping his car on the track.

"Just curious. We always swap grades. Things we think the teacher made up, you know…" the ginger boy shrugged.

"I already told you it's no big whoop."

"If it weren't you'd let me see. C'mon dude, there's no way you have worse grades than fatass."

Stan sighed. Sometimes having best friends sucked, you were obligated to say and do things you didn't want to but they always found a way to get you to spill all your secrets anyway.

"Well, it is the same stuff pretty much… good grades in what I'm good at and same marks in what I'm not…"

"Well I wanna see if me tutoring you in math helped. Seeing how you haven't told me you have a better grade in math, I'm judging it didn't," Kyle said in an obvious way.

Stan blinked. "Do you really wanna know dude?"

"I'm not going to force you to show me, do what you want."

One more shrug from Kyle was all it took. Stan cursed 'god damnit' as he got to his feet to get his report card. He passed it along to him.

"Amuse yourself," he said angrily.

Kyle scanned down and gasped. "Oh wow, you have a D in math dude? Really?" Stan sighed heavily. "Damn, that's rough. I'm not sure if you ever had a D before as a final grade in the subject."

"My parents were shocked too. They definitely don't want you to tutor me again since it's 'obviously not helping'," Stan did air quotes.

"I was helping! At least, I was doing my part. Maybe you just need to study better."

"I've been doing the same shit since kindergarten! Nothing works! I remember being forced to study for a math test in third grade. My dad had me sit in the office and pour over my math book and notes for two hours before bed once but I still got a C- on the test the next day! There's nothing left to do! I suck at math and always will," Stan elaborated.

Kyle was looking at the paper again. "I don't really know what you can do to get better Stan. You're right; you have always sucked at math. But even still you always managed to pass the subject at the end of each quarter." He examined it again. "Damn, three 4's? That's bad dude."

Stan glared clearly saying 'like I didn't know that?' through mind-reading.

"How can you still have problems with division? We were learning it as soon as fourth grade started. Same with fractions. You should know how those work, you like to bake. Do you not pay attention to how much one cup or three fourths looks like when you fill the measuring cup up? Area and perimeter I guess I can give you, it's still fairly new. Even still, all you do is"-

"Stop pointing out all I'm doing wrong, I already know what it says!"

Kyle finally took a rest on the report card. "What are you going to do about it Stan? Did your parents ground you? I can't imagine your dad's happy about this."

Stan rubbed his eyes- time to lie about the rest. "I dunno what's going to happen yet. My parents haven't grounded me yet. I'm sure they want to but Mom won't let Dad get too angry about this. Says grounding doesn't help so I dunno what they're going to do." Of course Stan did know partly what his parents were going to do about it, however he still didn't know if he was going to be grounded. Of course Randy wanted to ground his son but Sharon told him it was 'obviously not working'. They were just going to see how MathQuest worked for their son before proceeding with any other punishment. In Stan's eyes MathQuest was just as bad as being grounded from the TV or computer.

Thankfully Kyle did not elaborate anymore after and the next week came like any other. Stan's other friends seemed to have dropped the subject of grades too. It was the hot topic last week since it was parent teacher conferences but since they were over with it wasn't very interesting anymore. Thursday the 14th arrived and Stan spent the day trying to come up with a reason in his head why he would be staying after school once the bell rang at 2:45. His face was contorted with anger as he played with his friends during their final recess for the day.

"What's up your asshole?" Cartman shot as Stan threw the ball they were kicking around hard into his chest.

Stan huffed; time to initiate his lie. "Ms. Manstorm gave me detention last week. I have to serve it today after school," he said, speaking of their P.E. instructor.

Cartman smiled. "Ha! What did you do?"

"I just cursed at her 'cause she was telling me I was doing something wrong. I only said 'fuck you'."

Kyle thought. "I don't remember that. When did this happen?"

Stan tried to continue on with the lie without being caught. He was pretty bad at fibbing. "Um, last week. Remember um, when everyone was doing kickball on the field and I had to sit out 'cause I was feeling sick? Well once everyone went back inside she went over to me and said something so I got annoyed and said 'fuck you'."

Kyle was thinking again. "I thought you sat out because you've been having problems with your allergies."

"Well allergies can still make me feel sick!" Stan could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. "Anyway I have detention today so I'm pissed off okay?"

And they believed him. Unfortunately he would have to either come up with a better lie next time or tell the truth for next week's lesson. 2:45 soon struck and every one of the students in Mr. Garrison's class hurried out, all glad to finally be able to go home. Stan was the only one left behind after Kyle wished him good luck in detention. Mr. Garrison walked to Stan's desk.

"You have a ten minute period of 'free time' before you are to report to MathQuest. If you want to go to the drinking fountain or use the bathroom you can do it now. But you are expected to be at Mr. Ryland's class by 2:55. If you arrive later than 3 o'clock three times or more you'll be considered to leave the group. Other such rules and so on will be explained once you're there," the man waved a hand.

Frowning, Stan got up and gathered his things. "Um, what room is Mr. Ryland's room?"

"34. Now hurry up, I have errands to run," Mr. Garrison shooed the boy out and locked up his classroom.

Stan did indeed use the bathroom and drinking fountain as suggested, although went to the ones downstairs just to space out his ten minutes a little more. He was a little nervous; he knew this classroom was down a hall where the sixth grade classrooms were. It was a small hall but one he had never been down. The way the floor plan was set up, preschool through third grade was on the ground floor, fourth through sixth grade on the second. It was the general rule by the older students that anyone who wasn't in fifth or sixth grade should not be allowed down those halls so most of the younger students avoided them. Now Stan had no choice but to be over there. It was only ten minutes after the bell rung, surely there would still be fifth or sixth graders wandering around or hanging out there. Sighing, Stan gripped the banister to go back up to the second floor of the school.

"Out of my way you little prick!" a sixth grader pushed Stan to the floor.

"Not to be rude but I think _your_ class is a floor down," spoke a girl, raising her eyebrows at him after he got to his feet.

Trying to ignore them Stan hurried off and found room 34. He saw another boy his age standing by the door too. They both looked at each other and they knew the other had the same thought in their mind- they did not want to be here. A second later a rather nerdy looking girl came forward.

"Go in you two, it's really not that bad," she said, pushing her thick glasses up her nose.

Inwardly groaning, Stan followed after the girl and a few other kids into the room, half of him hoping these lessons wouldn't work just so he could be right, but the other half hoping they would work. He was terrible at math and always had been. Either way, Stan was going to be angry as he stepped inside room 34.

_A/N: Not much action yet but every story needs some build-up first. I decided to make Mr. Garrison the boys' teacher again. After knowing Matt and Trey admitted not knowing what to do with him after he unintentionally became president… well, no better spot than his original position imo. Once again, part of this was sitting in my laptop for years. Stan has to get tutoring in math. But I had no idea what to do with that idea. I myself have had troubles with math since elementary school and have been in a few 'help' courses which I felt didn't help me at all. Anyone else can relate? I'll stop rambling. Please do leave a review, that would mean a lot. Thanks._

_Lots of love: May 20__th__, 2019_


	2. Call Me Stanley

**CALL ME STANLEY**

When Stan walked into the classroom, he was immediately given a bad vibe to the place. Mainly because it looked so boring, everything set up for students older than him. There were a few charts with confusing math problems on the walls as well as a chart of all the US presidents. On one wall were essays with the words 'If I were President' on the title page. The final chart that caught Stan's eye was something labeled The Periodic Table. He had no idea what that was. Overall the room made Stan dread these upcoming lessons even more. Mr. Ryland entered the room a few seconds later. He was tall man with thinning brown hair and glasses. He looked nice enough but no matter how nice someone was they could never make Stan like math.

"Take a seat kids, it's 3:55," he spoke.

There were seven other kids plus Stan. He noticed no other kids from Mr. Garrison's class. Was he really the only one with a D in the class? Surely there were a couple others, Cartman included. Perhaps it was simply the fact that his parents were the only ones who agreed to put their kid in MathQuest. Maybe it was for the best, if anyone from his class knew he was in here…A few of the kids there took a desk towards the front while the others took one in the back, Stan included.

"Sorry you guys but I like to have all of you up front so you can see the board better and get help from each other," Mr. Ryland grinned.

Stan sighed but got up to sit in one of the chairs in the second row. Mr. Ryland acknowledged the new students of the group and had them introduce themselves and say one interesting thing about themselves. Mr. Ryland didn't want them to feel intimidated by math and wanted them to be relaxed around each other. Stan mumbled his name and told everyone he had a pet dog named Sparky and a pet cat named Basha. After the others had said something about themselves the teacher began to explain how the class worked. He said things like how this was supposed to be 'a good learning experience' and so far he had been able to help all the students who had come into it.

"Now I'm sure some of you might have been a little reluctant to come here today," Mr. Ryland was saying. "You have friends who think these 'Quest' groups are for 'losers'. But I can assure you they are wrong, this will be a good thing for you. Something you can feel good about."

Stan was holding his head in his hand, eyes drifted down to his notebook in front of him, already feeling an urge to start doodling inside it instead of any of the work he would be assigned.

""When you get your grades up next report card you can proudly show your peers that MathQuest _does_ help!"

"Oh god…" Stan moaned to himself.

The man spoke for five more minutes before getting into the day's lesson. He had been going over place value last week so began writing three warm-up questions on the subject on the whiteboard. By the time introductions and the lesson was talked about only twenty minutes were left of the hour. Mr. Ryland handed out place value worksheets to the kids and told them to work on them and if there was time after, they would go over the answers.

Stan looked at the paper: on it were ten problems with varying degrees of difficulty. The first two were easy, he just had to identify the numbers in the ones and hundreds spot but after that he hit a brick wall. Decimals were thrown in which he always hated. He knew they ended with a 'th' but that hardly helped. The information written on the board had been wiped clean and he had not taken any notes. The question asked where the three stood on the place value chart after the decimal. Stan bit his lip before writing down- three onenths. There were a couple questions asking to write down what the numbers said in word form. Stan always hated writing numbers out too; it took up too much room on the paper.

Mr. Ryland was walking around the room asking the kids if they needed his help. He looked at Stan.

"Need help- Stanley is it?"

"I'm fine," Stan said shortly.

The boy could sense the man was looking over his shoulder at what he wrote down.

"You know it never hurts to ask for help," he said wisely.

"This is stupid, this whole thing is," Stan crossed his arms.

Mr. Ryland took this as his que to step in. He took a seat in the empty chair next to him.

"What's troubling you?"

"I don't remember what the names are after the decimal. Why does it matter?"

"It matters a lot Stan. We"-

"Stanley," Stan corrected.

"Excuse me?"

"Call- call me by my actual first name. Please," Stan looked down. It was always interesting, the adults in his life would either call him Stanley or Stan and truthfully, there were only a handful of people he wanted to call him Stan. His friends, family, peers, doctor, dentist, and a teacher here or there… they were all cool enough or casual enough to have the privilege of using his nickname. However there was no way Stan wanted to have such a relationship with this Mr. Ryland.

Mr. Ryland blinked for a second before clearing his throat. "I apologize- Stanley. Anyway, we see decimals all the time. What about money?"

Stan was still angry. "Yeah we see it there but say when I'm sixteen and working at Target, someone asks me how much something costs. I'm going to tell them it's five dollars and fifteen cents not- five ones and one tenth and five thousandths or whatever."

Mr. Ryland frowned at the boy's sarcasm. "You will encounter many equations and math lingo when you get older Stanley. Once you learn the basics like this you can move onto difficult problems without second guessing. Take reading for example: when you were in kindergarten you learned the alphabet and how to pronounce simple words. Now at ten you're able to recognize words triple the size as you did when you were five, correct?"

Stan blinked. "Yeah but reading was never really hard for me. Math always has been."

"Surely you have hit a few roadblocks before when it came to reading or to any other subject. With anything you want to become good at, it takes some practice."

"But I don't _want_ to become good at math," Stan said bluntly.

Mr. Ryland frowned, clearly annoyed at the boy's attitude but trying not to let it show. "Math is very important to your everyday life Stan. Sorry, Stanley. I know it does have a bad reputation but I want you to at least try. That's all I ask from my students. Can you at least try?"

"I am trying," Stan grumbled.

Mr. Ryland looked at his notes: in it were a few scattered song lyrics, a short list titled: _Top 5 best candy bars_, a sketch of the Denver Broncos logo, and a star that he appeared to have traced and retraced at least 30 times.

"I repeat Stanley- can you at least try?"

Stan crossed his arms. "_Fine_."

To put it simply, Stan did not develop a good first relationship with Mr. Ryland that first session. Not only did Stan not feel up to doing math right after school, but he didn't like the way the man looked at him either. Almost as if he was staring. Was he looking at the others that way? He didn't bother trying to find out, he had to appear like he was putting in some effort with his place value worksheet. Of course his tutoring lesson was the first thing his parents brought up at the dinner table that night.

"I didn't like it," Stan immediately said as he took a bite of meatloaf.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Well it was only the first lesson, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it in a couple weeks."

"How long are you planning on leaving me in that lame group?" Stan's eyes went wide.

"Until your math grade improves," Randy pointed a knife threateningly in his son's face.

"I don't like the instructor; it's some sixth grade teacher, Mr. Ryland," Stan elaborated. "He kept staring at me. Probably thinks I'm an idiot, some lost cause. Either that or he's a child molester."

"Stanley!" Both his mother and father snapped.

"It's true! I could feel his eye on me the entire time!"

"Stan you are too old to believe every grown-up out there is evil or out to get you. There are plenty of good people in the world too," Randy pointed out.

"I know that, but this guy…"

"End of discussion Stanley. We are keeping you in MathQuest as long as we want. Until the end of the school year if we have to," Randy threatened.

_March 21__st_

The week had dragged by in Stan's mind, and how that it was Thursday again it meant Stan would have his second tutor session after class. Again, he was finding it difficult to come up with an excuse as to why he'd be staying behind after the bell rang. He wasn't the type to get himself purposefully in trouble like Cartman in order to avoid something. But what could he do that wouldn't cause his friends to look at him suspiciously?

2:15. He had thirty minutes left to come up with something before school was over. Meanwhile, Mr. Garrison was currently writing down the homework on the board.

"…and each paper must be five paragraphs long. Any less is an automatic F," he spoke, writing under the title of the paper 'My Family Tree'.

"Does it have to be hand-written or typed?" Kyle raised his hand.

"Hand-written. You dunderheads could spend some extra time learning better penmanship. Not everything should be easily typed away at a computer," Mr. Garrison frowned.

"What if we can't find any information or pictures on members of our family?" Wendy asked.

"Well fake it enough so I won't know the difference," Mr. Garrison waved a hand. "Now you have a week to do this project but start it today so it's not rushed. I repeat- each project has to have a five-paragraph essay as well as at least five family photos. Or else."

Suddenly Stan's hand shot in the air.

"Mr. Garrison?"

Mr. Garrison sighed, not turning around. "_What_ Stanley?"

"Um, I have a pretty big headache. Can I go to the nurse?" Stan asked meekly.

Mr. Garrison turned around, frowning. Kyle also gave Stan a puzzled look.

"Class ends in fifteen minutes Stan. You can wait till then."

"No, please, I really need to leave now. I have to lie down in there for a little while," Stan rubbed his eyes.

He tried not to look too obvious but the look Mr. Garrison was giving him clearly said that he knew what the purpose for the interruption was. Mr. Garrison finally sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Go Stanley. But only this once. I repeat, if you try something like this again next week the answer will be no."

Stan knew exactly what this threat meant. He avoided Kyle's continued stare as he gathered up his notebook and pen and scurried out of the classroom. He hung out in the bathroom downstairs until the bell rang. His heart leapt in his throat suddenly when he saw that Kyle had texted him.

Kyle:_.Want to hang at my house now that school's over?_

Stan bit his lip before replying back: _Can't. Still at nurse. Have to wait till my mom or dad pick me up._

Kyle: _Why? School's over_

Stan was feeling hot and angry at these questions. Why couldn't Kyle leave him alone for an hour?

Stan: _Still have headache. Probably best not to come over now._

Kyle: _Oh. Okay then. Hope you feel better_

Stan breathed a deep sigh of relief; he was safe to lie one more week. Since he had a ten minute period until he had to go to MathQuest he stayed put until it was almost time. He hurried back upstairs, being the last person in Mr. Ryland's classroom that afternoon. The lesson for the day was about fractions. Stan hated fractions. They made no sense. Even as he looked at the pictures showing common fractions that Mr. Ryland passed around to the students he still felt lost. Once again Stan was feeling on edge as he looked at the worksheet in front of him, feeling the eyes of the sixth grade teacher on him.

"Having troubles Stan?" asked the man after a few minutes.

"No. And call me Stanley," Stan said, head in hand.

"Sorry, sorry, I forgot. But are you sure you don't have any questions for me?"

Stan growled as the man took a seat across him. "Fractions don't make any sense. How come this"- he showed a diagram on his paper. "Be two thirds but _this_"- he showed another image. "Is called one fourth? Why not use the same unit of measure for both! Why can't this be split into four pieces too? That way we'd have one fourth for the first image and two fourths for the second."

Mr. Ryland raised a brow. "Stan- sorry- Stanley, certain things out there in the world need to be measured in different ways. Certain things require us to measure it in thirds, other things we need to measure in eights. One third cup of flour is going to look different than one fourth cup, isn't it?"

Stan's head was hurting from all the math by the time 3:35 came. He gladly packed up his backpack and was just about to exit the door when he heard Mr. Ryland call him back.

"Stanley, I just have to ask- how is your father's little beer experiment going along?"

Stan was taken aback at this question. "I don't know… okay I guess. Um, how d'you-?"

"I overheard him talking about entering the Coor's Light contest at the bar the other day. He sounded excited."

"Oh, yeah. It's going good I guess. People seem to really like it so far."

Mr. Ryland nodded. "Well I give him the best of luck then. Very ambitious to create your own craft."

"Um, yeah, sure." Weirded out, Stan hurried out the door.

_March 23__rd_

At 3 P.M. the sound of a whistle was heard by soccer coach Mr. Ramirez.

"Okay kids, good practice today, good practice. I feel confident we are going to beat the Loveland Bulldogs next week," he spoke as the kids gathered around him. "Now let's all cool off and get some refreshments. This week was Stan's turn to bring in something. Stan, do you think your mother is ready to serve up everyone?" Mr. Ramirez asked the boy who was currently wiping his sweaty forehand with his sleeve.

"My mom had to work today so my dad's bringing everything," Stan spoke.

"Great. Well why don't you go find him and we'll all be over in five minutes, okay?"

Stan nodded and with Kyle following, went into the sidelines to pick out his dad. But he was not there.

"Maybe he's getting the ice chest from the car," Kyle suggested.

Stan stood on his toes for a second before weeding his way around the sides of the field. "Dad? Dad? Hello? Practice is over," he called.

"Are you sure your dad would be coming by?"

"Yeah, especially if today was my turn to bring treats for everyone. I know my mom nagged him about it last night. Where is he?" Stan walked around some more before going back to where their soccer coach was.

"Are you guys ready?" Mr. Ramirez asked.

"My dad's not here yet. Sorry."

"It's fine. We'll be around for a little while longer. When he shows up just let us know," the man nodded and went to talk with one of the parents who had just walked up to him.

"Is your dad here yet?" Kenny asked now, joining Stan and Kyle.

"No… I don't know why, he knew he had to be here…"

"What was he bringing?" Kenny asked.

"We had a whole ice chest with little bottles of Gatorade, Gogurt, and my mom baked up those chocolate cookies everyone loves," Stan frowned as he still scowered the area.

"Chocolate crinkle cookies you mean?" Kenny asked.

"Yeah."

Kenny whooped.

"That's if my dad decided to show up. What the hell?"

Stan stood around waiting for his dad to show up, feeling stupider by the minute. Mr. Ramirez came forward once more. All Stan could do was apologize that his father wasn't there. The man nodded and went to get his things to leave. A few other teammates gave Stan dirty looks for he had not provided the refreshments for the day as he was required to do.

"Ignore them, it doesn't matter," Kyle told Stan as they walked towards the stands where Mrs. Broflovski was waiting.

"I just wish I knew what the hold-up is. I'll go text him." Stan took out his phone from his duffle bag and texted a message to his father, asking him where he was. There was no reply for the next thirty minutes. At this point Mrs. Broflovski asked Stan if he wanted her to give him a ride home. Stan took up the offer, getting the feeling that at this point, if his dad hadn't come yet, he wouldn't at all. He was asked if he wanted to stay at the Broflovski house until he got word from his parents. Since he didn't have a clean set of clothes with him, he opted to just be taken home even if it meant having only Shelley around for company.

When Stan stepped inside his house he noticed no one was downstairs. He could hear music blasting from upstairs and figured his sister was in her room, which suited him just fine. He stepped into the kitchen. On the kitchen counter was a large Tupperware filled with chocolate crinkle cookies with a note by it reading: _For Stan's soccer practice. Do not eat_! written in his mother's handwriting. He also saw the bottles of Gatorade and a few boxes of Gogurts sitting in the fridge. Clearly his dad didn't even bother to meet up with him today. Feeling very annoyed now, Stan went upstairs to take a shower and get out of his soccer clothes.

At 5 o'clock, Randy stepping into the house, a little wobbly on his feet. Stan, who was watching TV downstairs, immediately gave him a hard look.

"Hey son, guess what? The other guys around town decided to have a (_hic_) little contest of our own. Trying out all our homemade brews. Man, it was great," Randy smiled, waving a bottle around.

Stan got to his feet and made a move to go upstairs.

"Hey, where'ya goin' son?"

"You forgot all about my soccer practice today!"

"Huh? S-soccer…? (_Hic_) I dinnit- dinnit know you were still doin' that," Randy slurred.

"Grrr! Yes I am! I'm in football, baseball, soccer, karate… how can you forget?" Stan raged.

"Hmm… sorry about that son."

Stan gritted his teeth in anger again and went upstairs to his bedroom. He stayed there playing an interactive game on his computer with his friends when he heard the front door open and close. His mother was home now. Soon there were raised voices. The voices went at it for the next fifteen minutes. The door then opened and Sharon walked in looking winded.

"Kids, I'm sorry but it's going to be frozen dinner night tonight. I don't have time to make anything, I have a class at seven," Sharon explained, speaking of the nursing classes she was currently taking.

Stan said nothing, just went back to his computer.

"Stan, I'm sorry about practice today. I really thought your father would"-

"It's over with. Whatever. I already know not to count on Dad for anything."

Sharon opened her mouth but shut it, looking troubled. "I'm not going to be home until 10:30 or later so you'll be in bed by then. I'll say good-night when I get home, okay honey?"

Stan nodded and she stepped out of his door. Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Stan gave Randy hard looks the entire time he ate his frozen chicken Alfredo meal.

"I am sorry about earlier Stan," Randy tried.

"How could you forget? Everything was set up ready to be loaded into the car! D'you know how embarrassing it is to be the one who's supposed to bring the snacks for the week and your dad doesn't even turn up with them?"

"I already told you"-

"Oh give it up already with your stupid homemade beer thing!" Stan shouted. "The chances you'll actually win are slim! Meanwhile kids and my coach are giving me dirty looks for not bringing in anything. Kenny was really looking forward to Mom's chocolate crinkle cookies. It's just- it was just a waste," Stan mumbled the last part.

"Hey now son, I do have a good chance at winning this thing. Just you wait, it will be my face you'll be seeing on shelves this Thanksgiving. Just you wait!" Randy pointed a thumb to his chest in confidence.

_March 24__th_

Stan was feeling annoyed throughout the day. It was Sunday which meant he was forced to wake up early to go to church. Sit around as Priest Maxi went on about some passages in the bible while the majority of the others inside made their usual priest molestation jokes. He was only too relieved to go back home after to get out of his nice church clothes and into his usual t-shirt, jacket, and jeans. Once again Kyle was not available to hang out with since he was in his Jewish Day Camp another town over. Stan was forced to accompany his father in the basement as he made adjustments to his beer recipe. In his panic over creating a winning brew Randy had accidently tossed out the folder where he had written down the latest notes so he had to go and start from scratch to figure out how he came up with the lager.

"Everyone at the mini-tryouts yesterday loved it too! What an idiot! How did I throw out what I wrote down?!" Randy yelled into the air.

"Dad, is it really necessary for me to be down here?" Stan asked as he stirred a giant pot on a burner.

"Yes, it's always best to have another set of eyes when you're doing something like this."

"Why can't one of your friends do it then? Or Mom? They're all old enough to be around beer."

"Hey, I need to spend 'quality time' with you kids, don't I?" Randy snapped as he mixed together something else in another pot.

"Then have Shelley do this! She's older than me. I just want to do _some_thing fun today," Stan glared.

Randy paid him no attention. Suddenly Stan felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans to see that Cartman had texted, asking if he wanted to hang out. Stan sighed in relief, sure it wasn't Kyle, but doing something with Cartman and possibly Kenny would be better than sniffing in fumes from hops and whatnot. Muttering that he was going out and he'd be back by dinner, Stan hurried out the door.

Cartman: _Meet us at Ice Cream Palace_

Stan: _K_.

Cartman: _Bring your new bike. We're going to the park after_

Stan glared as he texted back: _No, you just want a turn on my new bike. You'll wreck it just by sitting on it with your wide ass._

Cartman: _BRING YOUR FUCKING BIKE OR ELSE, DOUCHE!_

Gritting his teeth in anger, Stan hurried to grab his wallet and took his bike out of the garage before riding down to the ice cream shop. Stan spent extra time making sure the bicycle was securely chained on the bike rack in front of the ice cream shop. He loved his new bike- a $200 red and black BMX-style with a cool skull design throughout; it was a gift from his grandparents when they had made a surprise visit from California a couple weeks ago. But it was an expensive ride; one he knew other people were jealous of, especially a certain fat friend of his.

"Finally you show up gay-mo," Cartman retorted when Stan walked into Ice Cream Palace.

"Hey, I have to make sure my bike is secure so just shut it," Stan bit.

Ice Cream Palace was a very popular ice cream shop in town and there was usually a line to wait in before they could be served. Stan waited behind Cartman but could feel Kenny's eyes behind him. Finally-

"Could you get me something Stan?" Kenny asked.

Stan sighed. "I guess… but I don't have a lot of cash on me."

"Can I have a scoop of Blueberry Pie? In a cone?"

Stan sighed again but nodded. He paid for Kenny's Blueberry Pie ice cream and a scoop of Death by Chocolate for himself before meeting up with Cartman in the last available small table in the store. The fat boy was already digging into his own treat- one of those elaborate shakes with extra toppings decorating the rim of the glass. Cartman had ordered the Birthday Cake shake, complete with sprinkles around the glass as well as four cake pops and extra whipped cream. He frowned when Stan sat down at the table.

"What the hell is that?" he pointed to Stan's ice cream cone.

"Death by Chocolate… in a cone. Are you blind?" Stan was feeling irritable right now and he didn't quite know why.

"Dude, we're at Ice Cream Palace. I can understand Kenny getting a single scoop 'cause he's poor but c'mon dude, that looks pathetic too."

Stan fiddled with the little money he had in his wallet. "I don't have much on me. I got a couple things off Amazon so I had to pay my mom back since she's the one with a credit card. But it's okay, it's Sunday which means my parents are going to give me my allowance today."

After their ice cream the three went off to East Snowy Hill Park. There wasn't much to do but take turns on Stan's new bike. Again, he was hesitant to allow his friends a turn, even Kenny. Cartman did manage to get himself up and pumping on the bike but tired out quickly. Stan looked at his phone- it was 6:08 which meant dinner would be ready soon. He decided to ride back home before he got a text from his mom telling him he had to come home now. Dinner itself was a quiet-enough affair, although right after, as Shelley was putting away the dirty dishes did his parents ask about his current state of homework.

"I don't have any left to do. Promise," Stan insisted.

"You better be telling us the truth because if you start skipping out on your assignments we are going to arrange for Mr. Garrison to send us a list of everything that's due each week," Randy spoke.

"I always complete my homework by the time it's due. Even math. What's the big deal all of a sudden?"

"The D on your report card is the big deal Stanley," Sharon pointed out.

"I did all of my homework…"

"If we find out you spent the day having fun with your friends instead of"-

"I did all my homework that's due tomorrow Mom! Damn! Let it go!"

Sharon glared at him before nodding upstairs. "Then do something quiet upstairs before bed."

Stan retreated to his room, again, feeling annoyed. He could feel a dull pain between his eyes. He'd ride out the oncoming headache a little while longer before deciding if he should take something for it. He _did_ do all of his homework. He completed one of those lame math worksheets where the correct answers uncovered the answer to a riddle at the bottom of the page. The answer to the riddle made sense so surely he would get a 100 percent on it. Stan spent the majority of his night texting Kyle and building something with his Legos. That was always a calming activity if he was feeling irritable although couldn't help but wish Kyle wasn't at camp every Sunday. Sure Stan was forced to go to church Sunday morning but he had the rest of the day to do things. Kyle was gone all day long in Middle Creek. 8:45 came by and Stan went to take a quick shower and get ready for bed. He sat up in bed for a little while, waiting for his mother to step in. She tucked him in each night but it was Sunday which was a very important day- allowance time. He rolled his eyes when she finally stood by the doorframe of his bedroom at 9:30.

"_Finally_."

Sharon did not smile back. She went over to push him down on his pillow but he sat up again.

"Mom? Where's my allowance?"

At this Sharon gave him a hard look. "Allowance? I don't think you deserve an allowance this week Stan."

Stan could feel his stomach bubble and his eye twitch. "Why not? What the hell did I do?"

"Perhaps the question you should ask is what you _didn't_ do. You know I keep track of your chores all week. You hardly did any of them!"

Stan thought for a second. "I did my chores this week. I know I did."

"You did not. You barely fed the dog or scooped up his poop, you didn't clean the cat's litter box, you didn't take out the trash or recycle bin once this week, you didn't set the table, you didn't put away your own laundry, you didn't help Dad wash the car, your room is a disaster… I don't feel you deserve your allowance this week at all," Sharon listed off.

Stan's headache intensified at that moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. "So you're telling me you aren't giving me anything this week?"

Sharon got to her feet. "Sorry Stan. And honestly, after that D on your report card, it's hard to want to give you any money right now." She went over to his light switch and flipped the light off. "Good-night," she said unenthusiastically and shut the door.

Stan sat up in bed, gripping the hat on his head in frustration. No money at all this week. He never discarded his chores like that before. Maybe that D on his report card and being in MathQuest was weighing down on him more than he thought. Either that or something else was bothering him and he didn't know what it was. Great, no money for anything fun this week. He had a total of $14.52 in his wallet. Hardly anything, and being a kid, it's not as if he saved up his money often or had a bank account. The dull pain in his head throbbed again. He moaned, hoping it would pass if he fell asleep. He didn't want to go downstairs to grab an Advil from the medicine cabinet and risk running into his mother. He was angry with her now as well.

_March 28__th_

Thursday again. Stan stood at the bus stop to go to school. Minutes later Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny joined him. Kyle gave Stan an alarmed look when he first saw him that morning.

"Dude… what happened?"

"What?" Stan asked blankly back.

"Your eye… what- did your sister hit you again?"

"Maybe," Stan said casually. "Maybe she felt it was necessary after I accidently spilled Coke on her history report last night causing her to beat me up before she had to re-write everything. Yes, that must have sucked to do so I guess I do deserve this black eye and other bruises on my body. Of course it was stupid for her to leave her homework on the dining room table but oh well," he concluded with the same expressionless tone of voice.

Cartman laughed and pointed at Stan's swollen left eye. Stan however looked positively annoyed at this point.

"I don't get it. It's as of my entire family is out to get me lately!"

"How do you mean?" Kyle asked.

"My stupid dad forgets to drop off snacks and fails to pick me up from soccer practice, my mom takes away my allowance, now this"- he pointed to his eye.

"Sorry man. But, well, we all have bad weeks where nothing goes right. Right?" Kyle shrugged.

Stan sighed, already thinking of the stupid MathQuest session he had to go to that day. "Today is going to suck, I already know it." On the bus ride there the thought of MathQuest and not telling Kyle he was in it was weighing on his mind. He couldn't come up with a good excuse this time as to why he'd be staying after the school bell again. He just had to tell Kyle the truth. This was his best friend; he wouldn't point and laugh. As everyone was getting off the school bus and walking up to the school, Stan held Kyle back.

"Kyle, just a heads up- there's something pretty important I have to tell you. Not right now but, after school is over, I'll- I'll tell you."

"What are you talking about?" Kyle looked confused.

"There's not enough time to explain now, just wait until after school is over. I'll tell you then, okay?"

"Uhh, sure…"

The lessons dragged on for that day. It was now 2:30 and Mr. Garrison was reminding everyone about their Family Tree Projects due the next day. Stan was feeling particularly confident in his project; he had gotten some good information about the Marsh side of his family from his dad and great information of the Kimble side of his family from his grandparents in California. His mother's parents even provided plenty of photos of the family from years ago including a photo from their wedding day. With all the information he received from both ends he was able to write five good-sized paragraphs. He was actually looking forward to presenting his project tomorrow, he knew he would receive an A. Suddenly the phone rang and Mr. Garrison went to answer.

"Mmm-hmm, okay. I'll let him know." He hung up the phone and turned to Kyle. "Kyle, the principal wants to see you in her office. She said this concerns your little brother, Ike."

Kyle shared a confused look with Stan before getting up from his desk, gathered his things, and left. All too soon the bell rang at 2:45 and school was over. Stan stood out in the hall for a minute, wondering if he should wait for his friend to show up again. But he only had a short time before he was expected to show up to room 34. He really wanted to tell him he was in MathQuest but it looked as if today wasn't going to be that day. Sighing, Stan grabbed his backpack, used the bathroom, and went off to the sixth grade classroom.

Today's lesson covered multiplication of numbers two and three digits long. The lesson began with a timed multiplication sheet. Stan had to write in how many of the basic multiplication problems he could in two minutes. It was easy enough; he immediately sought out the simple ones like 4x2 and 5x5 before moving onto the difficult ones like 7x9 and 11x12. Mr. Ryland went over the answers with everyone before explaining how to multiply large numbers in what he said were 'easy steps'. Stan was paying attention and taking notes this time. He knew how to multiply well-enough but of course the larger the number the more complicated it got. And today Mr. Ryland provided some punch and a pack of trial-sized chips for the kids as a snack. Stan found it hard to hate the man too much as he ate his favorite chips, Doritos, and drank some Hawaiian punch while doing math problems. Mr. Ryland was walking down the two rows of desks where the kids were seated, checking their work.

"Hmm, I'm sorry Stanley but you missed a step on this problem. The answer is not 678," Mr. Ryland pointed out to the boy's paper.

"Really?" Stan frowned and looked over his work again. He could have sworn he got that one right. He erased his work and tried again. Over the course of the session Mr. Ryland kept pointing out the problems Stan was working on were wrong. Stan was feeling frustrated and confused at this point; for once he actually was sure that he had done the work correctly. Maybe he was doomed to never be good at math ever. With five minutes left in the lesson Mr. Ryland placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It looks like you're having some difficulties today Stan. Sorry, Stanley. If you want, I can go over the work with you once this tutor session is over," the man offered.

Stan sighed but nodded, might as well stay a few minutes after if it meant he understood where he went wrong. He watched as Mr. Ryland waved good-bye to the seven other students when the time came before the man walked over to him again.

"Why don't you get out a fresh sheet of paper and write down the first three problems and I'll go over them with you step-by-step."

Stan sighed but got out a new sheet of paper from his notebook.

"In the meantime, do you want me to refill some punch for you?"

Stan glanced at his empty cup. "Yeah, thanks."

Stan frowned as he began writing out each problem again, hoping he'd understand where he went wrong. Mr. Ryland came up from behind him with a cup of more punch. Stan wordlessly took it in his hand and took a sip.

"Okay Stanley, this first problem- 344 times 20. Do you remember what you do to a problem that ends in a zero?"

"You carry it down?"

"Yes, good. Do you know why?"

"Umm, because no matter what, the problem is going to automatically end in a zero?" Stan guessed.

"Good. Good. Write that down then."

A minute later Stan could feel his brain go fuzzy. The sound of Mr. Ryland's voice was getting more and more distant. His eyes felt heavy.

"Wh- what's… what's going…on…?" Stan whispered.

The last thing Stan saw was Mr. Ryland giving him a small smile before his head hit the desk with a thump and he blacked out entirely.

_If you like to bake, check out chocolate crinkle cookies. So yummy. Thank-you everyone for the lovely reviews so far. If anyone knows me, I lack confidence so it's always nice to know others are enjoying my stories. If any of the math seems wonky, don't judge. I'm terrible at it if you didn't already know. Please continue to review, and check out my other stories as well since there have been a couple other updates there too. Thanks. _

_Lots of love: Rose, May 31, 2019_


	3. I Wish I Knew

**I WISH I KNEW**

_March 28__th_

That Thursday evening Sharon was currently bustling around in her son's bedroom cleaning up his mess. She had found a few scattered dirty clothes that she placed in his hamper before going about throwing out any other trash she could find. Three empty soda cans, a couple empty candy wrappers, an old banana peel, scraps of colored paper from the family tree project he had been working on all week, two sticker sheets, and a couple broken pencils and crayons. Why did he still hold onto broken and useless items? As far as she knew his little locker hoarding problem had been dealt with. But looking at his room now she didn't know what to think. Sharon made sure his family tree paper and poster was neat on his desk so he wouldn't forget it tomorrow morning, and went about straightening out anything else she could. She begun going over Stan's sheets with a lint roller to collect the hair left behind from his dog and cat when she suddenly checked the alarm clock on his bedside table; it was now 5:16. She had to get dinner on because of course it was something always left for her. Yes Randy still liked to cook but everyone in the family agreed his version of food was too ambitious and usually wasn't very good.

Dinner was ready by 6:20. Shelley was currently setting the table and Randy had just come downstairs. Sharon sighed when she noticed Stan had not come home yet.

"C'mon, let's eat, I'm starving," Randy spoke as he took a seat at the dining room table.

Sharon took out her cell to call their son up. "Not until Stan decides to turn up. Honestly, if he thinks I'm going to allow him to stay at a friend's tonight…" she called his cell and waited but he didn't answer. Annoyed, she sent him a text telling him he had to get home for dinner now. Stan had not replied back as they sat around for the next ten minutes. At this point Sharon, Randy, and Shelley dug into their pork chops. The entire time the three of them ate Stan had not come home, nor had he texted or called his mother back.

"Well he really must not care about being in trouble if he hasn't called yet," Randy spoke as he took a seat in front of the TV with his usual after-dinner beer.

"I mean really now, what has gotten into that kid lately? First he nearly flunks math, then he forgets to do all his chores, now he is out on a school night when he should have been home hours ago."

"That must have been one very long lesson at his MathQuest thing today," Randy joked.

Sharon rolled her eyes before calling up the Broflovski household. It was always the first place to check if Stan wasn't home. Same with Kyle and the Marsh home.

"Hello?" Sheila picked up the phone.

"Sheila? It's Sharon. Is Stanley over there?"

"Why no, he's not."

Sharon sighed. "Damnit, okay. He must be at Eric's or someone else's house. Thank-you." Sharon proceeded to call up the Cartman house but he was not there either. So Sharon tried the McCormicks, Stotches, and even the Blacks. Oftentimes the boys liked to gather around there for their latest play-acting adventures. But no one seemed to have heard from Stan at all that evening. Slightly concerned now, Sharon called back up the Broflovskis.

"Sheila? Could I talk to Kyle real quick?" Sharon asked.

"Yes, of course. Just a minute…"

"Hello?" Kyle called into the phone.

"Kyle? It's me, Stan's mother. I have to ask… have you seen or heard from Stan lately?"

It took a few seconds before he answered. "What… what do you mean by that? Isn't- isn't he home?"

Sharon felt her heart rate increase slightly. "No, he hasn't turned up at all this evening. Of course my first instinct is to call you. He's usually with you if he's not at home."

Kyle swore near the phone. "That's not good. I'm sorry Mrs. Marsh but I haven't heard from Stan at all tonight either. I- I called him and texted him a few times but no answer."

It was Sharon's turn to swear now. "Oh no, oh dear… I've called him too and no answer."

"What is it?" Randy whispered to his wife, getting to his feet.

"Kyle hasn't seen Stanley either," Sharon hushed back before turning back to the phone in her hand. "When was the last time you heard from him Kyle? He was at school today, right?"

"Yeah, he was at school all day today. But I had to be taken out early to settle a stupid little thing with my brother at the principal's office. I haven't seen him since."

"Okay… do you know if he went to his MathQuest session today?" Sharon asked.

Kyle's eyes dilated for a second. "Wait- Stan- Stan's in _MathQuest_?"

"Please, do you know if he went today?"

"How long has he been in it?" Kyle had to ask, grin on his face.

"Kyle dear, please…"

Kyle cleared his throat. "Sorry, I don't know anything that happened after school was over. I texted him around 3:30 but never heard from him."

Sharon sighed. "Thank-you sweetie. I'm sure I'll see him soon. Good-night."

Randy gave his wife a look. "So umm, what are we gonna do?"

Sharon rubbed her eyes. "I'll call the hospital and police station. It's too late to call up the school now. If- if we don't hear from him tonight I will go down there first thing tomorrow."

Sharon spent the rest of the night trying to get a hold of her son. After calling the local hospital and police station in town, she branched out to call up the hospitals and police stations in neighboring Middle Park and Middle Creek but to no avail. It was now after ten and she was feeling restless and worried. She should have tucked Stan into bed a whole hour ago but he was out…somewhere and no one seemed to know where. Yes, Stan had gone off missing plenty of times, for days on end a handful of those incidents too, but this was different. Whenever her son was missing or trapped or lost he was always with at least one of his friends. Sharon couldn't recall the last time Stan was missing by himself and his friends didn't know where he was either. Sharon really hoped she was simply overreacting and she would get a call or text from him or that he would walk in the door soon. There had to be some person or place she hadn't thought of yet that Stan might be at, it would come to her. It had to.

_March 28__th_

5:33 P.M. His mind was very foggy still. He didn't know why. Very slowly, he peeled open his eyes- or tried to. His left was still painful and swollen after Shelley had hit him last night. Stan slowly lifted his heavy head off from the lumpy pillow or whatever it was that was under it. He could barely make out the form of a person kneeling in front of him.

"Ugghhh… what hap-happened?" Stan whispered.

The person didn't say anything back.

Stan moaned again and brought his hand to his face to rub his eyes open. His surroundings came more into focus. He looked to be in a dark room or something. There was a woman in front of him frowning.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Dunno… um, where am I?"

The woman had thin brown hair in a ponytail that came down her thin face. She looked to be in her 40s.

"Can I have your age, height, and weight?" she asked.

Stan sat up now and frowned, looking around. He was in a basement by the looks of it and was currently sitting in a cot or something.

"Where am I?" he asked again.

"Can I have your age, height, and weight?" the woman repeated, still not smiling.

"Why?"

"Can I please have your"-

"Why?" Stan got to his feet now.

"Just answer me Stanley. I have to get going," the woman sounded exasperated.

"Wait- how do you know my"-

"Can I please have your age, height, and weight?" the woman asked for the fourth time.

"No," Stan took a step back and sat on the cot again.

"Tell me. It's the easiest way. I promise."

Stan frowned, already suspicious of everything about wherever he was. "If I tell you, will you tell me where the hell I am?"

The woman glanced up but nodded.

"I'm ten. Um, my birthday is in October if that helps. I'm four foot four… um, I weigh 72 pounds last I checked," Stan said softly, giving the woman an uneasy look.

She nodded, wrote this information down on a scrap of paper and got up to leave.

"Wait! What about my question? Where am I?"

The woman frowned. "You are in a basement." With that she hurried to the basement door- which was a part of an enclosed staircase, and closed it behind her.

"Wait! Wait! Come back!" Stan got back to his feet to hurry after her but he still felt a little dizzy. He went back to the cot before he threw up. As he sat he looked around to take in the basement as a whole. What he noticed first was the closed off staircase with a locked door so he had no idea who or what was above him. The basement was cold, as most basements were, and a slight dripping was coming from a pipe overhead. Off to the left of him was a door but he didn't know to what. If he wasn't feeling so nauseous he would have investigated. To his right was a small desk with two chairs that sat under a small window. Judging by the lack of light Stan figured it to be at least six in the evening. The cot he was on was rickety and creaked whenever he moved. There was an old lumpy pillow on it as well as a thin blanket. He glanced up; a small hanging lamp was above his head but it was currently off. Even though he didn't feel the best Stan made sure to be on alert until someone could tell him just where the hell he was. And why.

Thirty minutes or so later the sound of footsteps were heard from the staircase. Stan's head shot up and a couple seconds later the door opened to reveal-

"Mister- Mr. Ryland?" Stan's eyes grew wide.

"Hello Stan," the man greeted.

Stan immediately glared. "Call me Stanley."

"Well now Stan, I'm surprised to see that you're not exploring your little space right now."

"I would if it didn't feel as if I would throw up if I stood," Stan said bitterly. "What the hell am I doing here? What is all this? And why"-

Mr. Ryland held up a hand to silence him. "All questions shall be answered in due time son. But I will answer you what I'm sure is your most pressing question: where are you? Well you see Stan; you are in my home basement. It's pretty charming, isn't it? It even has a little bathroom over there," he pointed out the door to Stan's left.

"Why am I here? And who was that lady"-

Mr. Ryland held up a hand again. "I will inform you of something that you will need to know: you will now abide by _my_ rules. It's actually relatively simple: you do as you are told and I won't have to punish you. Easy enough, correct?"

Stan swallowed thickly. "Why are you doing this?"

The wiry man now began to walk with his hands behind his back. "Stan"-

"Stanley!"

"I will strike a deal with you- you may ask me one question every day you are here. That is- if you behave. If you do something out of line I will have to punish you and you will not get your question answered for the day."

"But"-

"Do you understand _Stanley_?"

Stan sighed but nodded.

"Now you will remain here until I see fit. You will be fed if I find you to be deserving. You will have full access of the basement, that is, if I feel you are deserving of it. You will not like it if I catch you doing something out of line. Are my rules easy enough to follow so far?" Mr. Ryland asked, finally stopping to look at the boy with a very serious look to his face.

"Whatever the hell you have planned for me isn't going to work," Stan spat. "My parents will know I'm missing. I bet they're already looking for me now."

Mr. Ryland laughed. "Don't you worry about your parents Stan, I have something planned to, shall I say, ease their worries."

"Whatever your plans are it won't work," Stan repeated.

Mr. Ryland waved this statement off. "Where was I? Ah yes, I suppose you have many questions you would like answered. I will be nice and give you a freebie tonight- I assume you were wondering who the woman was that came in before me? That is my wife, Charlene. She may be coming in periodically to check in on you now and again. Now, what will your one question of the night be?"

Stan tried to even out his breathing, trying to think straight. "I want to know why," he asked.

Mr. Ryland nodded. "A good one to start off with. Well Stan let me just say- you have something I want."

"Huh?"

"You have something I want that is very valuable." Mr. Ryland checked his watch. "Hmm, it is now 7:30. Since you have not done anything for me to punish you yet, I feel you deserve something for dinner. I will be back shortly." Five minutes later Mr. Ryland arrived with his dinner- a sad looking hotdog and a water bottle. Stan did not eat it right away. "The next time you are given food I do expect some thanks on your part. Or did your parents not teach you manners?"

Stan glared up at the man. "Leave them out of this."

Mr. Ryland grinned slightly. "I'd watch that tongue if I were you Stan. You have full access to the basement, at least for tonight. So enjoy being able to use the toilet and sink while you can. Good-night."

"Wait!" Stan got to his feet. "Where's my stuff? Like my phone and backpack? And do I at least get a toothbrush or something?"

Mr. Ryland only shook his head. "So many questions. Thankfully you will be able to have them all answered, shall your stay here increase. Good-night." And the tall man went into the enclosed staircase, locking the door behind him.

Stan sighed but walked over to the small table sitting in the room where his dinner sat. A flimsy hotdog in a bun was hardly filling but it would have to do. He would just have to pretend it was something more. He was at a Rockies baseball game. The hotdog there was hot and had ketchup on it. No, chili cheese! He was enjoying it with a side of nachos and Mountain Dew. He was at the game with his friends. Or maybe his dad. Yes, that's what sounded nice at the moment, a baseball game with his dad. Randy of course was sitting next to him with a frosty cup of beer. They would get some ice cream for dessert during the seventh inning stretch. After, they would go to the gift shop and Randy would buy him a new shirt, baseball hat, or cool purple thermos.

As Stan finished his hot dog he stared out the small window of the basement. His parents had to know he was missing by now. He didn't want his parents to worry about him but perhaps the more they worried the quicker they would go to the police and the quicker he'd be found. He had no idea how long Mr. Ryland was planning on keeping him in here. He said that he had something of value for him. What the hell could that be? Stan was only a kid, what did he own that would be of value to an adult? Anything Stan owned that he considered of value was for his own desires. Books. Favorite toys or games. Only he saw value in that one deflated football of his, or that dinosaur t-shirt that hadn't fit in three years but he couldn't part with. Some old Batman toy that was really valuable? That fly ball he caught at a Rockies game a year ago? What? If anything his new $200 BMX bike but why would an adult man want a bike that only fit a kid? Stan felt so confused as he thought about his situation.

"All I have to do is follow his rules and he'll let me know everything," Stan told himself. But what were the rules exactly? And what would he do if he disobeyed? And what was up with the woman that had been in here before, Mr. Ryland's wife named Charlene, apparently? Why did she ask for his height and weight? No doubt Mr. Ryland had a hold of his backpack and phone right now. If he could venture a guess he was sure what it would look like if he clicked the home button on it: there would be a few missed calls, texts, and voicemails from his mother and even Kyle. Stan grinned as he imagined what the voicemails were.

"Stanley, pick up your phone this minute young man! You better have a good excuse as to why you haven't answered my calls. You know you are not allowed to stay late at a friend's house on a school night. It's now past dinner and you are still out! I didn't give you your own cell phone to ignore me! Pick up _now_," Stan could hear his mother's voice as he clicked that first voicemail. He would then see what Kyle had said.

"Dude, where the hell are you? You've been ignoring me all night. Pick up. Either you're dead and lying in a ditch somewhere or you're ignoring me. Not cool. Answer me already, damn."

Stan's heart twinged with sadness as he thought of his three favorite people in the world. But he quickly shook it off. It had only been a few hours, he couldn't fall apart yet. He had to remain strong and focused on his predicament and how he could find a way out. He had seen plenty of true crime stories to know there was always a way out. He would face whatever Mr. Ryland had planned but he'd make it out, he knew it.

Stan's eyes traveled around the room yet again; he saw the gleam or something in the corner. He got up from the table and made his way over to object; it looked to be a small camera mounted on the wall of the enclosed staircase. Stan glared at the thing for a few seconds before hatching an idea. He grabbed a chair from the table and a cloth from a box and made his way over. He stood on his toes and flipped off the camera before throwing the cloth over it and hopping down. He didn't care if Mr. Ryland saw; he didn't want to be spied on tonight.

_March 29__th_

Stan fell into a rough sleep the night before. It was cold and dark in the basement; he had a thin blanket from the cot to use, and he found an old sheet that was inside one of the few boxes around the walls. It's not as if it was the first time he didn't have a traditional bedtime routine. Yes, he much preferred to have a home-cooked meal, take a shower or bath before bed, slip into warm pajamas, brush his teeth, and get tucked in by his mother. But there had been times that did not happen. He only had to hold out for a little while; surely he wouldn't be in this stupid situation for too much longer. He turned around in the cot and opened his eyes- and yelped.

"Good morning Stan," smiled Mr. Ryland.

"_Stanley_," Stan said through gritted teeth.

"How did you sleep?"

"Horrible."

"I'm sorry about that," the man spoke, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "If you'd be interested, I do have something that might help with your sleep. Are you interested?"

"Not really."

"Well something tells me you might not have a choice in that manner." Mr. Ryland cleared his throat. "Anyway, as it is Friday so I will have to run off to work today. However there is something I need you to do before I leave."

"What time is it?" Stan had to ask. He looked out the small window to see sunlight barely creeping in.

Mr. Ryland ignored his question. He moved a finger in a forward motion. "Come, sit at the desk with me Stan."

Sighing, Stan padded his way to the desk. Mr. Ryland gave the boy a sheet of paper and a pencil.

"I need you to write a note for me."

Stan frowned at the paper and glanced at the man. "What kind of note?"

Mr. Ryland took up a chair to face him now. "You will write down everything I tell you. Remember, these are simple rules to follow that I am giving to you. Now, just write down everything I tell you to. Understand?"

Frowning, Stan picked up the pencil and waited for instruction.

"'Dear Mom and Dad"'- Mr. Ryland began.

Stan's head shot up. "Wait- I'm not- this isn't some note for my parents, is it?"

"Do as I say _Stan_."

"No, this is bullcrap. I'm not writing any kind of ransom note for my parents." Stan crossed his arms stubbornly, turning away from the note.

Mr. Ryland cleared his throat. "You will do as I say Stanley. If you do not comply you will be punished."

"I don't care; I'm not writing anything you tell me to!"

Mr. Ryland slammed his hands on the desk, causing Stan to jump. "You will do as I say young man. And just for your little smart mouth you now have a strike against you. Now write as I say."

Swallowing thickly, Stan took hold of the pencil and began to write. He wrote down word-for-word what the scary man told him to before handing it over. Mr. Ryland read over the note and nodded in satisfaction and pocketed it.

"My parents will never believe it," Stan voiced.

"I have a classroom to get to this morning. Thank-you Stanley. Oh, before I forget…" he went over to uncover the video camera mounted to the wall that Stan had covered with a cloth last night. He gave the boy a twisted smile. "I would not try that again if I were you Stan. Trust me. I will see you this evening." And he locked the door behind him.

_That same morning…_

Sharon didn't get much sleep the night before. Randy tried to ease her mind by telling her Stan disappeared and got into trouble often; he'd turn up. But again, when was the last time he went off just on his own? Plus he had his own cell phone now, he would have called or texted her if he wasn't in some sort of peril. Sharon called up Tom's Rhinoplasty to inform them she would be running late and went to South Park Elementary instead. She waited for a half hour outside the principal's office before she was able to be seen.

"I don't want to sound too paranoid but I have to know whether or not Stanley was in school yesterday," Sharon worriedly gazed at Principal Victoria.

Principal Victoria opened a file cabinet and riffled through it for a few seconds before pulling out a folder. She scanned it and paused at Stan's name on the sheet. "According to Mr. Garrison's attendance sheet yesterday morning Stanley was accounted for Mrs. Marsh."

Sharon sighed and nodded. "Then do you know whether or not he made it to his MathQuest session?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Marsh but there is no official attendance sheet for the Quest Tutor Groups at this school. Attendance is between teacher and parent only."

"Well can I get a hold of the fourth grade MathQuest instructor? Mr. Reynolds or whoever it is?"

"Mr. Ryland? I'm sure you can but it might be a little while. Perhaps not until lunch. School has just started unfortunately," Principal Victoria informed the mother.

Sharon sighed again but got to her feet. "Lunch is at 12:15, correct? I will be calling and asking to speak with Mr. Ryland then."

"Of course. I will tell him when I get the chance."

Feeling very unsatisfied, Sharon left the school office to get to work. As promised, when 12:15 struck Sharon took her own lunch break to call up the school again. Principal Victoria informed Sharon that she had Mr. Ryland in the office to speak with her.

"Mr. Ryland is it? This is Stanley Marsh's mother. I was wondering if my son turned up at his MathQuest session yesterday," Sharon asked.

Mr. Ryland frowned as he held the office phone to his ear. "Yes, he did. Why do you ask?"

Sharon rubbed her eyes. "He didn't turn up home last night. I'm not really sure where he could be or why he hasn't called or texted me."

"I'm sorry to hear that Mrs. Marsh. Yes, Stanley did arrive but as to what happened once the lesson was over, I do not know."

"I was afraid of that. Thank-you Mr. Ryland. Sorry to bother you."

"No worries. I hope he turns up."

"Thanks. Me too. Good-bye."

_Ryland House_

Stan spent the majority of the day trying to figure out the basement and find a way out. Of course he knew that was probably not possible but he had to figure out his space as much as he could. The walls seemed structurally sound and there were bars over the small window of the basement. Stan did drag a chair over to the window and could barely reach it. He would have to find an object or something to try and break the glass. Of course it was too small for him to crawl out of but maybe if he started shouting someone passing by would hear? By the evening Stan stopped trying to figure a way out; he was feeling weak from having no food at all that day.

Later that night the sound of footsteps on the stairs was heard and Stan perked his head up to listen. Mr. Ryland came down with a small smile on his face, carrying a bag.

"Hello Stan. How are you doing tonight?"

"Hungry of course, and annoyed," Stan spat.

Mr. Ryland waved his finger about. "Tut tut, you have to learn how to hold your tongue mister. Anyway, as the day is at a close I feel it is time for you to ask your daily question. However I thought up a fun way in which I could present our new ritual. Do you like games Stan?"

Stan glared his way, not speaking.

"I repeat Stan, do you like games?"

"Yeah…" Stan muttered.

"Wonderful. I will give you a sheet of paper here- and you will make a list of all the questions that are burning in that little head of yours. That is the first step."

Sighing, Stan took hold of the paper and pen and began writing out all he could come up with. Why are you doing this? Does anyone know I'm missing? Why did Charlene ask for my height and weight? Can I take a shower soon? Can I have clean clothes or a toothbrush? How often will I be fed? Why are you an asshole? And other questions relating to his situation. After ten minutes he handed the paper over to Mr. Ryland.

"Great. Now what I will do I rip each question off like so"- he carefully tore the first question out of the paper. "And then I will place all the questions into this hat here"- he took off a green bowler hat from his head. "-and you get to choose one of the questions written on the paper and ask me it. Sounds fun, huh?"

Stan's arms were crossed. "Not really."

"Hmm, well I like to play a similar game with my sixth grade students. Write down topics or questions and place them in a hat and have a student pull one out. My sixth graders enjoy it, maybe you will too one day. That is, if you make it to sixth grade." He cleared his throat and presented the hat to the boy. "Choose a question Stan."

Grumbling, Stan pulled out a slip of paper and faced the man. "'Can I have clean clothes or a toothbrush?'" His cheeks burned from the humiliation of asking for such a basic thing from this awful man.

"Well, seeing as I do not plan on feeding you often I don't feel you need a toothbrush. Little food means little chance of tooth decay, right?" he chuckled.

Stan's hands turned into fists, wanting to hit this man.

"As for clean clothes… again, you aren't going anywhere so why would you need a change of clothes? What you have now is sufficient. Now then, since I have answered your question, I will bid good-night. That is, unless you can give me what I want right now?"

"I don't _know_ what you want from me," Stan's voice cracked.

"Well another night here you'll stay. Oh, that reminds me… I did inform you that you have a strike against me this morning. Let's see…" in one fluid motion he pulled out a chain from the bag he came down with, locked one end of it to Stan's left ankle and the other to the leg of the cot. "This is for trying to cover up my video camera last night. Seeing as I cannot trust you to not do something foolish like that again, you will be attached to your bed until I see fit."

Stan pulled his leg that held the chain. "No- no please, I'm sorry. Don't do this, _please_."

Mr. Ryland placed a bucket next to the cot. "I think you can venture a guess as to what this is for. I will see you tomorrow Stan. Good-night."

_March 30__th_

Sharon was very annoyed as she left for work that Saturday morning. She tried to report her son as missing the day before but the incompetent police didn't find it a serious matter to look into yet. According to them, 'kids went missing and ended up back home' all the time. It had 'only been a day' so there was still a good chance Stan would turn up. Plus, almost everyone in town seemed semi-aware of the kind of trouble the Marsh boy got into with his friends, odd things happened in town and everyone was too used to it to bat an eye. If Stan didn't turn up by the end of today, Sharon would be allowed to file a missing persons alert. Until then…

"If your brother does turn up, please call me right away," Sharon was telling Shelley before she left the door in the morning.

"I know Mom," Shelley rolled her eyes.

"Your father is going to go around town today to look for him so I want someone to be home at all times."

"I know, now go to work already so I can get breakfast," Shelley gave her mother a very annoyed look. Sharon sighed but closed the door after her. Shelley meanwhile went about the kitchen to make up some eggs and sausage links. It was a Saturday, she wanted to sleep in but her mother had to wake her up early to go on about how her turd of a brother was missing. Shelley had plans to ogle the boys at their basketball practice with a couple friends today at the high school. She didn't care about the game of course, she just wanted to watch the boys run around and get hot and sweaty. Thankfully her friend Amanda's older brother was on the team so it wouldn't be too weird for some 8th graders to look on.

But no, something tragic and dangerous had to happen to Stan _again_. That stupid turd never learned from his mistakes, he always landed himself in trouble. Agreeing to pretend to be the reincarnation of L. Ron Hubbard, running around with real weapons from the Far East, locking himself, his friends, and a bunch of baby cows in his bedroom for days… and here he was, missing. For barely two days. It was nothing to fret over, not in Shelley's mind.

"I'm going out," Randy spoke after he had had his own breakfast. "I'll ask the hospital if anyone matching your brother's description came in over the past two days."

"Whatever," Shelley shrugged, turning on the TV.

"I'll be in that area of town for a little while before moving back down. You call me or your mother if Stan turns up, got it?"

"Stan's only been gone for a day and a half Dad!"

Randy sighed. "I know. I'm not too worried yet but your mother seems to think something happened. I mean, not even his friends know what's up. Anyway, just stay in touch…"

And so Shelley stayed home all day, as promised. Around two she heard the sound of the mailman drive up to the house. She waited a few minutes before it drove off. She decided to go out and grab the mail for that day, just so she could feel the sun on her for thirty seconds. She opened the box and riffled through the items. A bill, adds, the monthly coupon book for the town, and a small envelop. She frowned when she saw it.

To: Mom and Dad

2001 Bonanza St, South Park CO, 80439

Highly curious now, Shelley hurried inside. She tossed aside the other items that came in the mail and looked at the envelope for a few seconds. It was written in her brother's writing. She had absolutely no idea what it was so she decided to call up her mother.

"Shelley? What is it?" Sharon sounded slightly frantic when she answered her phone.

"Something weird came in the mail just now. I don't really know what it is. It- it might be from Stan."

"Something came in the mail… from Stan? What are you talking about?"

"It's some normal white envelope. It says it's for you and Dad. It's in his hand-writing."

There was a very pregnant pause. "Open it. What's inside?" Sharon breathed.

Shelley did so, quickly scanning the folded up paper inside. "Mom, you better come over here…"

The scene at the Marsh house became chaotic an hour later. Sharon and Randy were pacing the floor, trying to answer the police who were also there. At that moment Kyle got a text message from Cartman, saying there was some sort of commotion happening on Bonanza Street, and from Stan's house it looked like. Kyle hurriedly ran over to the house, curious and worried at the same time.

"What's going on?" Kyle asked Cartman, who stood outside the dark blue home.

"Dunno, but I'm guessing the case of Where's Stan? just blew open."

Kyle weaved his way between the officers outside the house and went inside. "What happened? Where's Stan?" he asked around.

"It's not looking good Kyle," Randy sighed heavily. "This- this came in the mail today." He passed along the note to the boy.

Kyle took it in his hands and read aloud, "' Dear Mom and Dad, by the time you read this I will be far away from home. Lately, life has gotten too stressful and I don't feel I can continue, at least not here. Certain people are responsible for this turn of events. You know who you are. I cannot tell you where I am but I will be okay. Take care, love, Stan,'" he trailed.

Sharon sniffed loudly as she dabbed at her eye. "I- I don't understand it. Where is he? Where is he?"

Kyle frowned and read the note again. "Are you sure it's from him though?"

"Of course it is! It's in his hand-writing!" Randy said dramatically.

"True…" Kyle looked the paper over a couple times before handing it over to an officer. "This arrived in the mail?"

"Yeah. It's pretty crazy," Shelley looked uncomfortable.

Kyle's stomach was bubbling angrily; he didn't know what emotion he should express first. "But- but I don't get it, why would he run away?"

"There is a good chance he took his own life instead," the officer that took the note spoke.

"No! No!" Sharon gulped in air around her, new tears spilling from her eyes. Randy gripped his wife's shoulder with tears in his own eyes.

Kyle shook his head. "But Stan would never- he could never- I mean that's really pulling shit out of thin air," he licked his dry lips.

"Seeing as the note is not clear one way or another, it is a possibility as of now," said another officer.

"No!" Kyle snapped angrily. "Stan would never take his own life. He wasn't like that."

Now that he was there, Kyle was pulled aside by a couple officers to give his word on when he saw Stan last. He told them honestly that he last saw him right before school ended, of course, that was before he was pulled early from class. He had tried calling and texting him that night but never got a response. They thanked him and left to question Shelley again. Kyle walked out of the front door, mind in a fog.

"So? What's up? Did he die or something?" Cartman asked as he munched away on some chips.

"He- he ran away," Kyle voiced.

"No way."

"That or- or something else. There was a note that was left in the mail. It doesn't tell us anything, just that Stan was feeling too bogged down with life and the people in it so he- left."

Cartman blinked back, almost bored. "Damn, something must have been going on at home for Stan to want to run off."

"I guess. This is just weird. Very weird. I need to go home."

Kyle had difficulty falling asleep that night. He tried not to worry too much the past two days, a small part of him still thought Stan would arrive back home safe and sound. But now that a weird note arrived from him…Kyle tried telling himself it wasn't _really_ from his best friend although he couldn't find a reason why it wouldn't be from him. It was in his hand-writing. Unless someone else out there was good at forging other people's writing styles then it most certainly came from Stan's hand. Kyle wished he had the note in his possession but there was no need, he had memorized the words, plus it was addressed: To Mom and Dad. Maybe Kyle wasn't even meant to see it. Then again the Marsh and Broflovski families were very close so of course Stan's parents would share something like this with him. There was no return address either so who knows where it came from…Kyle tossed and turned, head full of so many thoughts. Was Stan missing? Kidnapped? Or did he actually…?

"No! H would never do that! Never!" Kyle suddenly shouted and sat up in bed. Or would he? Yes, Stan Marsh had always been the sensitive and emotional one in the group. He had his bouts of depression and other mental health issues. Perhaps something catastrophic enough made him take his life. Or at least attempt to do so. "Fuck, he would never _ever_ take his own life. I know he wouldn't," Kyle said to himself, pressing a hand to his forehead in frustration. Stan was only ten years old. Yes, it was possible for a child to commit suicide; such stories did make the news. But there weren't any signs from Stan that he would consider it. He wasn't being relentlessly bullied or harassed. He had a family that loved him and friends and overall good social life. A normal average American kid's life.

"Then again…" Kyle wondered aloud, now getting up and pacing his bedroom floor. Stan had wanted to tell him something that Thursday he went missing. Perhaps he wanted to tell him he was running away. Or that he planned to take his own life. Maybe if Kyle hadn't gone off to sort a stupid argument with his brother that afternoon Stan would have been able to pull him aside after class and tell him what he wanted to. There were simply too many odd things about this and Kyle knew sleep would evade him that night.

_Ryland House, same night_

For the first time since his kidnapping, Stan felt at a loss that Saturday. He was now chained to the metal framed bed, which he now discovered had been bolted down to the ground all this time, he had also been without food for two days and it hurt. Again, there had been times he had not had any food and was in dire distress but that didn't mean he wanted to experience that ever again. The worst time that he could think of was when he was trapped for four days in a collapsed cave with his friends. That had been rough but at least he could move around then. The chain around his ankle was heavy and it hurt. Now that he was locked away like this any chance to escape felt too distant to see.

The sound of feet going down the stairs was heard but Stan didn't lift his head to look. Mr. Ryland's face appeared seconds later. He was holding a small case, about the size of the man's hand, and the green bowler hat.

"Good evening Stan. How are you?"

Stan didn't answer.

"Remember, when I ask you a question I expect an answer. I repeat- how are you?"

Stan sighed. "Hungry."

"Hmm, well if you behave the rest of the night then you might be rewarded tomorrow. I don't want you to actually die while I keep you here. At least not yet. Now, do you have the information I am looking for tonight?"

Stan shook his head. "No."

"Tut- tut. Oh well, since it is now 8 P.M. It is time for our little game. Go on; choose a question for me to answer."

Sighing heavily, Stan plunged a hand into the hat and pulled out a slip of paper. "'Why did Charlene ask for my height and weight?'"

At this Mr. Ryland clapped his hands in amusement. "What a wonderfully fitting question for tonight Stan! For you see, I have the answer right here in the case"- he held up the flat object. "Remember when you told me you were having troubles sleeping? Well it just so happens that I know of something that could help. Would you like to see?"

"Fine, whatever," Stan spoke, knowing his input didn't really matter.

"You see, Charlene asked for your height and weight so that I could measure out just the right dosage for you"- Mr. Ryland pulled out a syringe from the small carrying case.

Stan swallowed, trying not to look nervous. "What- what's that?"

"This is to help you sleep Stan. I admit, this is still in the experimental stage however Charlene feels it is safe to test on humans now. This is a special drug to help ease the mind, to relax the muscles and allows one to have pleasant dreams. There are many sleep aids on the market but this is geared towards children. And you are the lucky candidate."

"I- I don't think I need extra help sleeping. Please, I'll be fine without it," Stan voiced.

"Nonsense. With this, the goal is to open your mind and allow certain thoughts to consume you. Thoughts that might help you help me get what I need. Now, seeing as it is night, I feel now's as good a time as any."

Stan really wished his jacket was buttoned at that moment; he struggled as much as he could against the man but he was feeling weak from lack of food. Mr. Ryland had successfully pulled down the jacket sleeve of his left arm and Stan cried out when he felt the sting of the needle go into it. Mr. Ryland stepped back a second later. No words were spoken. Stan looked up with fearful eyes, breathing slightly heavy, having no idea what this mystery drug was going to do to him. Five minutes later he felt his eyes get heavy. He couldn't fight it off even if he tried. He slumped over on his left side on the cot.

_He was cold and hungry. Of course he felt scared too but he didn't want to let those emotions show too much in front of his friends. They had been trapped inside a cave-in for days. He didn't know how long, it's not as if any of them had been keeping track since it happened. Sure Kyle had a watch but no one knew the actual time the cave-in occurred, thus there was no reference point in when the events took place. It didn't help matters that Cartman appeared to be sick with a mystery illness._

"_Surely our parents know we're missing," Stan spoke, casting his flashlight at his friends._

"_I'm sure. But it's not like we told them or anyone else where we were," Kyle reminded him._

_Stan's stomach was gurgling in ways he didn't think possible. It had to have been at least two days since they were trapped._

"_This is the stupidest situation we've gotten ourselves into," Kyle said heavily._

"_Pff, accidently being shipped to fucking Afghanistan just to return a fucking goat was stupider than this," Cartman remarked._

"_Hey! None of us could keep the goat. I had to make sure it would be okay," Stan retorted. "Ohh…" he groaned as his stomach barked at him yet again. "I can't remember going this long without food before. It hurts."_

"_Really," Kyle exasperated. "Even if I'm sick I still try to eat _somet_hing."_

"_Same," Stan frowned. "Hey, what's- what's everyone's favorite food when they're sick?" he asked around. At this point talking, even about nothing, was helping their morale somewhat._

"_Oatmeal," Kyle noted. "It's my favorite thing for breakfast so it's my go-too food when I don't feel good."_

"_I don't have that luxury," Kenny crossed his arms._

"_I like my mom's beef stew. And crackers with ginger ale. Anyone else love those overstuffed raviolis from Chef Boyardee? Some homemade peanut butter cookies with milk is good too of course," Cartman began to list off._

"_Fat-ass! This is if you're sick! There's no way you could eat all that if you don't feel good," Kyle pointed an angry finger at the bloated boy._

"_Ay! I do so eat those things if I'm sick!"_

"_What about you Stan?" Kyle turned to his friend._

_Stan thought for a moment. Talking about food was hardly helping the situation but since he asked the question, he had to answer. "I like tomato soup with cheesy toast. Ginger ale is nice too. And hot tea. It's usually the only time I drink hot tea, when I'm sick."_

_Two days later… Stan was supposed to be resting in the hospital but it was so hard. As soon Al Gore left the scene and Cartman had finished crapping out all the treasure, each boy was loaded into an ambulance to be accessed. All four were very dehydrated and sick. They had been transferred to a nearby hospital to be looked over. Stan wasn't sure about his friends, but he had been told a good day recuperating in the hospital and being hooked up to a couple nutrient-rich I.V.s should be enough for him to be released the next day. It was night and he was alone in bed. His parents had still not made it by yet since the hospital was a good four hours away from South Park. Every time Stan closed his eyes he could see darkness. Feel the hard rocky surfaces. Hear the cries as he and his friends almost drowned as the waters rose. _

Stan moaned and thrashed around in his cot. The waters were rising so quickly. He was so weak and tired from trying to pull Cartman along the cave. He didn't feel he could go on anymore. He wanted food. Wanted to be home, away from this madness. This isn't how he thought he would go. Drowning in a cave? The water swooshed around and around and he felt his body crash against rocks. Kyle was slipping in the water now, trying to help Cartman swim. Stan had to go in after him to save him or there would be no point to any of this.

"Ky…Kyle… n-no…_Kyle_!"

_Suspense again! I really hope everyone is engaged in this story so far. I admit, it is difficult to write Stan in this predicament so far. Yes, he went through a lot in How the Darkness Sounds, but at least he had family and friends by his side. Now he really is alone and no one knows anything. Please do leave a review. It might be a slightly longer wait for chapter four since I want to finish up a story for Tales of Adulthood that I've had sitting around for two years now and I can't ignore it anymore. I love reviews so don't forget to do so before you click away. Thanks!_

_Lots of love: Rose, June 14, 2019_


	4. My Angry Aching Heart

**MY ANGRY ACHING HEART**

What awoke Stan early that morning was him rolling off the cot he was in. He was paddling as hard as his six-year-old body would let him in the water but Shelley kept pushing him under the waves. This fun family trip to the lake was going nothing like how he wanted. He called out to his parents and grandmother at the shoreline but they were too engrossed in their talk to hear. He was being held under water for far too long. He finally was able to make a move out from under his sister's hold-

"Argh!" Stan grunted, finding himself on the cold hard floor of the basement. He rubbed his eyes and sighing, got to his feet. He took a look out the small window above the table and chairs. It looked dark. He had no idea what time it was now. Only then did he shiver and notice it had gone significantly colder down here since last night. Or was it still night? Again, he had no concept of the time right now. He then noticed a familiar tapping sound and figured it was raining out. Stan fastened his jacket to him again, suspicious and fearful Mr. Ryland might appear again and inject him again with some mystery drug. He sat on his cot and looked to the distance, no real thought in his mind. A familiar pressure suddenly built in his body. Biting his lip he tried to hold it in but eventually gave up. Stan got to his feet, slowly bringing down his chained up left ankle, and unzipped the front of his pants. He peed very little into the bucket by the bed before zipping up again and climbing onto the cot.

Stan must have sat on the cot for at least another hour before feet were heard on the basement stairs. He didn't look up when he heard the door open. Only when he saw a pair of feet in his line a vision much smaller than Mr. Ryland's did he look up. It was Charlene, the man's wife. She had with her a small bag. She looked nervous like she was last time she had been down here.

"How are you this morning Stanley?"

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It's… 6:46 A.M.," the woman answered, looking at her watch.

"Wait! You- you're allowed to answer my questions?"

Charlene sighed. "I wouldn't hold onto that too much Stanley. I'm just here to do what he wants me to and then I have to go."

"'Wants you to?' This asshole is your _husband_? That's not a way to treat your wife," Stan glared.

Charlene sighed. "Sit tight Stanley." She went to reach into her bag; Stan flinched. "Don't worry dear, I'm not going to hurt you." She pulled out a notebook and pen. "How are you feeling right now? Any nausea? Pain?"

"Why"-

"Stanley _please_."

Stan rubbed his eyes in frustration. "A little sick to the stomach. Headache."

Charlene nodded and wrote this down. "Please take off your jacket for me Stanley."

Stan found his heart rate increase. "No."

"I only have a few more minutes before I have to leave. Please, it's best you follow my directions just as you would his."

"Not until I know why the hell I need to free up my jacket."

Charlene looked nervously up before looking at the boy again. "I'll show you"- she pulled out a blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, and a thermometer.

"Why the fuck"-

"I just need to check your vitals and I have to leave."

Stan glared at her before slowly unbuttoning his jacket. "I have reason to be suspicious you know. I was just given a shot of some mystery drug or poison hours ago."

"I understand Stanley. But that is all this is, I promise."

Stan frowned as the woman stuck the probe under his tongue before tightening the cuff over his right arm and check his heart and breathing. She wrote down the results before getting to her feet.

"Wait," Stan spoke again. "Do you- I mean, can I have something to eat sometime today?"

Charlene gave s slight smile. "Yes, I think you might get some food today dear."

Stan had to take this as good enough information. He looked at the floor again and she left.

_April 1__st_

_Marsh house_

Shelley awoke early that morning. She did hate waking up before her alarm went off, especially on school mornings. Waking up early on a Monday was not something most would enjoy doing. But the rain outside was pouring down yet again as it had the past couple days. Yes it snowed often but South Park didn't get hit with rain storms too often. She made her way downstairs around seven to get breakfast. Her mother was already down there with a cup of coffee. She was looking off in the distance. Shelley knew it would be pointless to greet her so she just grabbed a box of cereal and poured herself a bowl. By 7:15 Randy had arrived downstairs as well. He glanced at his wife and daughter before getting himself some breakfast too.

"Kinda early for you to be down here," Randy spoke to his wife.

"I usually wake up before anyone anyway," Sharon's voice was soft and crackly, as if she hadn't used it too often as of late.

Randy frowned as he made up a cup of coffee. "You need to get some more coffee creamer Sharon."

Sharon rubbed her eyes. "I haven't had the mind to go grocery shopping. Excuse me but my son is missing."

"Hey! He's my son too!" Randy pointed an accusing finger at her.

"Then you'll understand why I can't go to the damn grocery store at the moment!"

Shelley sighed as she got up to put her bowl in the dishwasher.

"The police are doing everything they can to find him, we have to go on with our lives too," Randy was saying.

Sharon was on her feet now. "Oh that's just so easy for you to do isn't it? Go to work as if nothing happened."

"It's better than letting it consume me like you are _Sharon_! I dare ask if you plan on going to your class tonight?" Randy crossed his arms.

"No I am not. I'm thinking of quitting altogether," Sharon spoke as she sat back down, rubbing her eyes yet again.

Randy looked amused and angry. "Pfff, and you and Stan accuse me of stupid dreams. Look at you, once again dropping your 'nursing school' thing."

Shelley had walked out of the kitchen at this point however could see and hear everything. It's not as if her parents were trying hard to hide their true feelings.

"How dare you! Stan is _missing_ and you want me to pretend he's not? Our son is- I don't know where he is. How can I focus on school when he's…out there?"

"I'm just saying Shar, this is your second time now."

"I got married and had Shelley. I listened to your stupid ass who said I'd make a perfect stay-at-home-mother and to not worry about work or school or anything. What a load of crap that was. I didn't hear you complain one bit when I went back to work six months after I had Stanley," Sharon bit back, eyes flashing, hair a mess.

"So are you just going to wait around until he shows up? Go to work? What? What are you going to do Sharon?"

There was a moment of quiet in the kitchen; Shelley peaked over to see her mother giving her father a very hard look.

"You don't even see the real issue with all of this, do you Randy?" Sharon calmly spoke.

"What the hell do you mean?"

"In our son's note he said that 'certain people' are responsible for his disappearance."

"Yeah, so?" Randy crossed his arms.

"There's no doubt in my mind that he was referring to you. You greedy selfish idiot."

"What the fuck are you getting on about Shar-_on_?"

"Did you forget all about Stan's last soccer game? How you missed picking him up? Forgot to bring snacks? Came home drunk? Again?"

Randy rolled his eyes. "Pfff, that's not why our son is gone. It's not the first time I missed picking him up from something. And what about you anyway? Or are you Miss Perfect?"

Shelley was just standing there in the doorway at this point, going back and forth between her parents. This was a good fight so far, she didn't want to miss it.

"I never claimed to be, I don't have an inflated head like you," Sharon snapped.

"Ha! Perhaps the reason Stan decided to run away or off himself was because of what _you_ did! How you took away his allowance this week!"

Sharon's eyes went wide for a second. "I've taken away his allowance before; he would never run out like this because I took away his allowance. What a stupid suggestion."

"Well he's obviously made at one of us! I forget about his games and shit all the time, why would he run off now of all times?"

"That's more logical than him running away because I didn't give him twenty dollars. Like _I_ would be the reason Stan would run off?"

The voices were getting angrier and higher and Shelley finally took this as a sign to go upstairs and get ready for school. Ever since the weird note from her brother arrived in the mail a few days ago Sharon and Randy had displayed a range of emotions. There were a lot of tears shed that first night but now they were beginning to get at each other's throats. Shelley meanwhile didn't know what to think. She definitely didn't want to appear too concerned; people would be suspicious. But she did wonder what the heck the note was about. Her stupid turdy little brother was just that- a stupid turdy little brother. He would never go out of his way to kill himself. Not even run away. Yes, running away was something every kid threatened to their parents at least once in their life. Shelley herself had said such a thing twice before but never followed through. Stan had made threats of running away a few times too and had actually followed through two of those times. Shelley smirked into the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. Six-year-old Stan Marsh had somehow been able to run away and hitch a bus ride to Middle Creek to 'hide' at their grandmother's house. Grandma Mara played along for the day until Stan cracked and allowed her to phone their parents to tell him where he was.

Shelley sighed as she finished getting herself ready. No she did not miss her brother and no she did not care where he was. Yes the house was quiet lately without him. Yes she was happy not to see toothpaste blobs in the sink left by him, or dirty clothes after he had taken a shower. How Shelley hated seeing dirty uniforms from his football, baseball, and soccer games lying about the bathroom floor… yet she still felt a little off when she passed by his bedroom to find him not there. If anything she felt a strong need to hit someone the past few days Stan had been missing. His face was usually there to hit if she was feeling angry. However she had to improvise for now. She drew in a breath and punched a fist into her hand, letting out all her worry and anger in that blow. Satisfied that she could go about her day as normally as ever, she continued to get ready for school.

_April 4__th_

_Ryland House_

Stan didn't have a calendar with him but he had been keeping up with the days since Mr. Ryland would always 'check on him' each night at 8 P.M. The man had been down a total of seven nights in a row now which meant only one thing- it had been exactly one week now that he had been held captive in here. One week and Stan could count on one hand how many times he had eaten in that week, not counting the breakfast and lunch he had before he was captured that Thursday afternoon. Twice. That first night where he had the sad hotdog and small bottle of water and a couple days ago, as promised by Charlene. Mr. Ryland had come down with a bologna sandwich which was just a slice of the fake meat on two slices of cheap white bread. Stan always hated bologna but he was starving so he ate his meager meal with gusto. He had also noted that there was only one reason why Mr. Ryland came down a couple of those nights- to see if Stan had what he wanted. When Stan told him he did not the man went upstairs without a word. Yes, the awful man did say he would answer the questions Stan had written down if he 'was behaving' but it appeared that wasn't going to be an everyday kind of thing.

Stan was beginning to feel very gross right now. He knew he had an odor to him since he hadn't bathed or brushed his teeth in a week. He had taken off his jacket, shirt, and socks for a short while just to feel slightly refreshed before pulling them back on when it got too cold in the basement. He also took his hat off for longer stretches of time, ruffling his greasy hair when the thing was off his head.

"Mom, Dad, I'm sorry about all the times I ever put up a fight when it came to taking a bath or brushing my teeth, I'm really sorry," Stan spoke aloud. Such things every kid threw a tantrum about when they were little. As he sat around in his own stink, he couldn't see the point in such arguments now. This simply sucked. Baths or showers and just-brushed-teeth felt so much better than this. Simple things he took advantage of days ago. If Stan were to be told at that moment he could take an hour-long shower and see Dr. Steels for a good ol' teeth cleaning, he'd pump a fist in the air and twirl in excitement.

By now his family and friends had to be worried sick about where he was and by now a massive search party was being set up to look for him. All he had to do was stick it out for another day or two. Soon enough he'd be safe and warm in bed. His mom would cook him up Creamy Cheesy Chicken Spaghetti, his favorite. Meanwhile he would be watching the latest Rockies game with his dad and Kyle. Then at bedtime his tabby cat Basha would come up and curl on top his chest and it really would be the best night ever. Soon. Soon such a night would happen.

Time went by so slowly and Stan watched as the sky turned dark from his view of the small window. Mr. Ryland came downstairs at 8 P.M. as predicted. He had with him a briefcase.

_Great, another new game he wants to torment me with_, Stan thought to himself.

"Good evening Stan. How are you?" Mr. Ryland asked in his usual greeting.

"You know how I am," Stan spat.

Mr. Ryland shook his head. "I won't have any of that tonight son. Now, do you have what I want?"

Stan shook his head 'no.'

"I see. Well maybe I can do something about that. Now, I have noticed that it has been a couple nights since you were able to have a question answered. Depending on how you behave now will determine if I answer something. Understood?"

"Yeah…"

"Well now Stan, in case you haven't noticed, today is Thursday, and do you know what that means?"

"I've been in this hell hole for a week?" Stan knew that wasn't the best response to give but he didn't care.

"It's Thursday which means it's time for your MathQuest lesson!" the man beamed, clapping his hands together joyously.

"What the fuck?"

"You think just because you are chained to a bed you can skip out on it? Luckily your MathQuest instructor is readily available to help you out with your math troubles. So let's get to see shall we?" The man went down to free Stan from his bed- taking the chain off the bedpost but still leaving the metal thing attached to the boy's ankle so it would be difficult for him to run off if he dared to try.

Stan slowly made his way to the table, in disbelief he was about to be forced to do math. He watched as the man took out paper, a pencil, and even a handheld dry erase board from his bag.

"We will be going over the lesson I taught the other fourth graders in MathQuest today- fractions! First off you are to complete this worksheet here that goes over some basics." He handed over a worksheet where Stan had to fill in the blanks to the answers. "Write down each fraction you see on this page. I suggest getting the answers as correctly as possible. For all your problems."

Gulping Stan looked down at the first problem: the pie was cut into four slices and two were shaded. What was that called again? He assumed fourths but sometimes the obvious answer ended up being wrong. He went down and answered all ten questions the best he could. It was a little difficult not to bite his lip or look too apprehensive as he watched the horrible man look at his answers. Two minutes later he showed the paper to him. "The correct answer to problem three is one a one fourth. The answer to number four was two thirds. Problem eight was three and one fifth."

"That's not fair! I don't know about- about problems like that," Stan pointed out.

"Mixed numbers you mean? Well lucky you, that is tonight's lesson! We are going to be turning mixed numbers into improper fractions."

The last thing Stan wanted was to be forced to do any math but he had no choice but to pay attention as much as possible. It was slightly easier to do without the distraction of his notebook to doodle in although his hunger did get in the way of thinking clearly at times. Mr. Ryland went on about adding and subtracting mixed fractions on his whiteboard for forty minutes before handing over a new worksheet to the boy to complete.

"Remember Stan, the more you answer correctly, the better off you'll be," the tall man warned. He stared at the boy as he took hold of the paper.

Stan bit his lip as he tried to fill out the worksheet. It was difficult to do when he was being stared at. He rubbed his eyes and thought back on the lesson he just had. He was told to think of certain fractions like a pie. Picturing a yummy peach or apple pie hot from the oven cut into eight slices. This hardly helped. Maybe if the pie was a pizza cut into eight slices. Nope. Food was food no matter what and it didn't help him at all to fill out this stupid paper. Twenty minutes later he slowly handed the paper over. Again Mr. Ryland got to his feet and walked around the basement as he graded the boy's work. He finally turned around to face him, face devoid of emotion.

"How…did I do?" Stan asked timidly.

Mr. Ryland sighed and took off his glasses to rub his eyes for a second. "I don't know what it is about you Stan but you just do not seem to grasp anything I am teaching you. You got six wrong on this paper. You really are a failure when it comes to math."

"What the fuck? That's not fair! Screw this! Screw you!" Stan raged and got up from his chair and knocked it over.

Mr. Ryland made no move to stop him. "For your lack-luster attempt at math Stan, no question will be answered tonight."

"Big fucking deal! Like you have given me any real answers since I've been here!"

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Mr. Ryland said calmly.

"I curse all the time! Get the fuck used to it you asshole," Stan pointed a finger up at the man.

Mr. Ryland reached into his bag to pull out a small pouch. Stan eyed it for a second before the man took a couple strides towards him and wrapped an arm around him, pinning his arms down in doing so.

"No- please- I'm sorry"- Stan struggled. But it did no good; a few seconds later he winced as the mystery drug was injected into his arm a second time.

"Perhaps a nice little sleep will do you some good Stan. Good-night," Mr. Ryland sighed, gathered his things, and exited the room.

Stan couldn't fight off the effects of the drug; his mind went fuzzy and he soon flopped on the concrete ground and into the realm of his memories again.

_He was standing in the hall of an unfamiliar apartment. He supposed he had to familiarize himself with it soon since it was now his new home. His parents had divorced and his mother found a new apartment for herself, Shelley, and him to live in. Today was moving day but it felt like any other shitty day he had experienced the past week. There were times he found himself thinking this was all a dream, that there was no way his life had turned around upside down so quickly. But all he had to do was look around to see that he was wrong. He was standing in an apartment where many people and things around him looked like shit. Many things around him had begun to look, taste, and sound like shit the day after he turned ten. His parents had been fighting every day and night and finally split for good. His friends had deserted him; Kyle even said 'he was a bummer to be around'. And now he was in his new home, about to start a new life living with just his mother and sister. Yes, everything had indeed been real lately._

"_What room do you want turd?" spoke a voice behind him._

_Stan looked up to see Shelley standing there. She hadn't yet appeared to him as crap yet, maybe because he already saw her as such most days when he felt normal anyway._

"_Huh?" Stan could only shrug._

"_Look, I know this sucks right now but I'm trying to be nice. One room is bigger but is close to the living room. The other is smaller but has a better view. Which one do you want so we know where to dump your crap in?" Shelley said crossing her arms._

_Stan shrugged as he looked at his shoes. "First one I guess…" he said in a whisper._

_It had overall been a really shitty day then. Stan had to leave the house he had so far grown up in and move into this apartment. It was too clean, too white. He didn't like it. His mother had ordered pizza that night since the majority of the kitchen things were still in boxes. Stan sat at the table, hardly touching his food. It looked like shit. His mom was going on about how it would take time for them to get used to the new place but soon they would be calling it home. At least that's what he got from her- every other word that came out of her mouth was shit. Outside his new bedroom window was a view of Whistlin' Willy's, the place he had his tenth birthday party days ago. It was an overall good birthday. Yes he was angry his mom took away his Gersploosh CD but he did have a fun time with his friends. There was pizza, games, prizes, and presents to enjoy. Just a week ago he was happy. What he would do to feel that again…_

_The week that followed was hardly any better. Stan felt like crap every waking moment of his day. His mind was in a fog, he couldn't concentrate on the simplest things. Nothing gave him joy. He would wake up and take a shower without realizing he was doing so. He usually bathed at night yet he found himself doing things for no reason anymore. Sometimes during those showers he wouldn't use any soap or shampoo. Sometimes before leaving the apartment or going to bed he wouldn't brush his teeth. He would stare into the nothingness that he felt in his chest, toothbrush in hand but never reaching his mouth. Nothing mattered, why bother feeling clean? He would walk to the school bus, staring at his feet all the while. He would notice three other blobs of shit by the bus stop and knew who they probably were but so what? Anything that the blobs said was blubbery shit anyway. They certainly weren't his friends anymore, he knew that much. _

_He got on the school bus that one particular cold day. The people around him were bugging him with their stupidity and the sound of the shit coming from their mouths. For some reason their words were coming in clear that morning in class. Mr. Garrison was explaining that the girls in class were to get some sort of shot during lunch that day. Butters said some shit about the shots going into their vaginas. What a really stupid thing to think! Then his ex-friends walked in to school late talking about some disease called Asperger's Syndrome. Of course Butters would think burgers literally came out of your asshole. So many emotions were building up inside Stan's head at this point. Every single word was like a nail in his head. Their voices coming in louder and more annoying, like someone was pressing a static-filled radio next to his ear. Cartman was saying stupid shit. Butters was saying stupid shit. His friends were acting as if he wasn't even in the room. Talking about shots was making his stomach churn. His parents were divorced. He was depressed. Finally-_

"_God, shut up! Everyone just shut the fuck up!" he shouted to the room at large._

_Of course things only got more insane after. Stan was soon sitting in Mr. Mackey's office, tears filling his eyes as he talked of the hallow feeling inside him. Later that day Stan found himself in the principal's office with her, Mr. Mackey, Nurse Bronski, and his mom. They suspected he had Asperger's Syndrome. Exactly where the evidence in this was, Stan did have to wonder._

"_Shots can cause certain illnesses to appear in children, mmkay?" Mr. Mackey was explaining._

_Stan didn't believe it. He knew his mother didn't either. Yet soon he was refereed to an Asperger's Reacher Center that was to 'help' him with his new condition. Again, in a way Stan felt this was something that surely he would have to properly be tested and diagnosed with first, but he soon found himself at the center, an hour out of town._

"_You'll be okay, we'll get through this," his mom was saying. Well, every other word came out clear._

_So far, being ten years old was really beginning to suck Stan had found himself thinking. Even after everything, finding out he didn't really have the disease and everyone was being an idiot like usual, he was hit with another blow. On the brink of feeling happy naturally and excited about the changes in his life, did things go back to how they were. Things went on normally as before. The next day Cartman had even invited him along to play a new game called Texans vs. Mexicans. Yes it was fun but Stan was still turning to whiskey in private to get through life. His parents finally found out. He was grounded till Christmas. He tried finding that high in other ways but failed. And Kyle…_

"_I'm willing to put the past behind me if you quit drinking," he told him the day of the sleepover at Cartman's._

"_Of course dude. I'm okay with things again. I'm happy things are back the way they were, promise," Stan lied to his best friend._

_But Stan still needed the whiskey. Kyle was pissed off when Stan showed up drunk during a day of ice skating. Nobody had his back about why he needed to drink still. He had his parents back. His old house back. His friends back. He was supposed to go on living life as an average normal-enough American kid. But how could everyone drop the past events like it was nothing? And through it all, Kyle never really apologized. His best friend in the entire universe, brother from another mother, the guy that he was closer with than anyone, who he told everything to, shared so many experiences with, seen and done so many insane things with… Kyle walking out on him and abandoning him when he needed him the most hurt like nothing else had…_

Stan twitched and moaned on the cold concrete floor as these horrible dark feelings plagued his every fiber. Everything that he felt and thought after he turned ten years old until he finally accepted life and began to enjoy it again after Christmas played out again and again until finally he jolted awake, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. He noticed his foot had been tethered back to the cot sometime during his nightmares.

"Oh god… oh god…" he moaned and gripped onto the hat on his head. He thought he was over all of this but it was still so recent. Every part of it was difficult to deal with yet what was making his heart hurt was thinking of Kyle. He still never apologized for turning away from him like he did. Stan did indeed want to go on normally. He was so happy he had his best friend back that he didn't bring it up again. But he still wanted to shout at him. He looked up and glared at the blank wall in front of him. "So what if I said 'fuck you' to your face? I didn't know what was going on dude! Because of that you were mad at _me_? After everything _I_ went through? I didn't have to apologize to you for anything!"

Stan continued to glare at the wall where his cot was at, imagining Kyle was there. Slowly his heart rate returned to normal as he thought of his friend. Sure it was easy to be mad since he had just relived those painful memories yet now all he could ask for was Kyle to be there to help him. It's not as if it were the first time the two 'de-friended' each other. Each time something did happen they always made up. There was nothing that could split their friendship; he should have known this by now. But he really thought he would lose him for good after his tenth birthday…

His head then shot up when he heard the basement door open. Charlene walked in with her small bag again. Stan frowned as he slowly made his way onto his cot. Again, she asked him how he was feeling and again proceeded to check his vitals.

"Why are you doing this?" Stan asked after she had put her instruments away.

"I- well, perhaps that's something you can ask Perry," the woman said, looking slightly concerned.

"Who's Perry?"

"Oh sorry, I forgot, you wouldn't know. My husband, Perry Ryland."

"He doesn't tell me shit," Stan frowned at his hands.

Charlene didn't say anything. Stan held her back yet again, asking if he would be fed that day. She didn't know the answer to that and left up the stairs. And so Stan was left to stare at the walls of the basement. He could hear the sound of rain hitting the outside of the house. He shivered as he carefully pulled his jacket on, his left arm sore for being injected twice now with the mystery drug. He was starting to feel like the victim in the movie Room. He had seen it not long ago on Netflix. A mother and her young son were kept in a shed for five years by an evil man. This man would show up at the same time every Saturday or Sunday, Stan forgot which day, and allow the mother some sort of privilege. The boy meanwhile thought this was all normal and how life really was and had no concept of the outside world. Perhaps Stan's situation wasn't exactly like this but he was indeed being held by some creepy man with no hope of escaping.

Stan really didn't feel up to sitting around that day so went to discover what he could in the three feet or so he was allowed to move. There was a box of costumes near him as well as a box of Halloween decorations. Stan then took note of another medium-sized box close by. He made his way over but was stopped by his locked up limb. He reached out- the box was at his fingertips. He took another step, reaching and wincing as the chain pulled at his skin. With his fingers outstretched, he finally was able to take hold of the box flap that was out and drag the box to him. He turned the box around to see BOOKS written in a black marker. Grumbling, Stan pushed it aside. He was about to hop on his cot before he looked at the box again.

"God damnit…" he cursed before opening the box. He was trapped and bored out of his mind; surely books might help pass the time. There was a mixed assortment of books inside, a few kids' books, a few hard and boring adult books. Stan's fingers then brushed against a familiar-looking book. On the cover held a boy and girl riding some sort of magical animal. It was titled: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling. "Hmm…." He frowned and took the book up and sat on his cot. He never got into the Harry Potter fandom before. Kyle had read all the books and seen the movies. Stan always found them to be really long so never bothered. Stan didn't feel he had the attention span to sit and read a book with nothing but words. Stan liked comic books. Cool facts books. Sports books. A variety of picture books. Simply put, he didn't think he had the willpower to read a book longer than two-hundred pages.

"Damn, have I really fallen so low I'm going to turn to a book to pass the time?" Stan wondered aloud. And of all books… he didn't know much about the series. Just that it was about some kid named Harry Potter whose friends were Ron and Hermione and they all went to some school for wizards called Hogwarts. The principal or whoever there was called Dumble..something. The evil teacher was Snape. There was also some bully named Malfoy. Weren't there two books that were released before this one anyway? Would he be lost if he started on the third? Then again… the fandom was one of the biggest things out there. Millions of copies sold. It had its own theme park! Surely it was worth taking a peak at?

"Ohh, what am I getting myself into?" Stan said to himself before opening the first page.

_Chapter one- Owl Post_

_Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of the year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard._

"Oh god, he's some sort of nerd isn't he?" Stan frowned as he read that first paragraph.

However as he read the next few pages he became uneasy. The author went on to talk about how Harry's parents were dead so he lived with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon who apparently seemed like horrible people. They wanted to 'squash the magic' out of Harry and would keep him 'under the stairs' as a punishment. These people apparently didn't even acknowledge that it was his birthday!

"What the hell? Is this some sort of abuse or neglect story I didn't know about all this time?" Stan wondered aloud. But one thing he found really neat so far- Harry had a pet owl called Hedwig! "That is so _cool_," he smiled at the book. Stan ended up reading the first three chapters of the book before he began to feel sleepy. So far, he hated these Dursley characters. The one boy- Dudley, reminded him of Cartman. A fat spoiled bully. Stan was even surprised to see another character in the book shared his name- some bus driver named Stan Shunpike. He was intrigued with the thought that some mass murderer named Sirius Black had escaped from wizard prison and was on the run. So far the book was nothing like Stan imagined. If he were to be trapped in this basement any longer this book might just be something to hold onto and escape into.

_April 7__th_

Kyle was feeling despondent that Sunday morning. Today he was to go off for another fun-filled day at the R. A. Milnetz Jewish Camp, part of the program provided by the new synagogue his family had discovered a few months ago. The building was located in Middle Park, thirty minutes away. So far he and Ike had had a good time interacting with other Jewish boys in the surrounding Park County area with fun games and activities with some downtime for Torah-related learning too. Today however Kyle didn't feel up for going. Yet he still found himself at the camp grounds at 10 A.M. that morning.

"I know you have a lot on your mind, what with Stan missing… but try to have a good time today bubbe," Sheila spoke to her son.

"I just wish I knew _something_. I don't know anything," Kyle spoke as he stayed seated in the car.

"I know Kyle. It is very unnerving that no one knows anything. Poor Sharon… anyway, I'll be back around five, okay boys?"

Kyle sighed as he stepped out the car with Ike. Together the two went into the big gathering multi-media room. Ike immediately went off to talk with another four-year-old boy so Kyle took a seat, crossing his legs on the floor, waiting for the chatter to die down before the councilors said their few words.

"All right, all right boys, quiet down please," spoke the elder councilor, Mr. Klemp. "Good morning everyone, shalom!"

"Shalom!" rang in a chorus from the children. Kyle muttering his greeting.

"Now before we begin today's activities, I do have a serious manner to bring up with everyone, something awful has occurred over this past week. I'm sure you have seen this on the local news but a local boy has been missing for over a week now."

Kyle's stomach plummeted as he saw the older man hold up the MISSING PERSON flyer with Stan's information on it. A picture of him with and without his hat on stared back at him.

Name: Stanley Q. Marsh

D.O.B.: 10/19/08

Height: 4'4 "

Weight: 72 lbs

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue

Missing since: 3/30/19

Last seen: South Park Elementary School

If you have any information on his whereabouts, you are to contact your local police station or call (850) 668-1079

"We have just received these missing person flyers this morning. We want to make everyone aware that a child in the area did not come home over a week ago. Even though he is from South Park he was abducted or ran away in the next town over so he could be close by. Be on the lookout, and we will inform your parents as well when they pick you up tonight. Now, let's go over the events for today!"

Great, now there were missing person flyers out. If Kyle didn't already feel like crap, he did now. There was no way he could enjoy himself today.

"Will you be okay?" asked a small voice suddenly.

Kyle looked down to see Ike standing there, hand on his shoulder.

Kyle drew in a breath and nodded. Ike smiled and hurried off to have fun with the Lil' Navigators group. That day there was a big volleyball tournament with the kids in Kyle's age group, 8-11, The Aviators. Kyle did not have the heart to participate much and could only apologize as his buzzing mind caused his team to lose. Throughout the day people seemed to ignore him, either feeling sad for him or angry at him. Kyle didn't care.

Currently he was sitting at a lone table in the dining hall, hardly touching his matzoth ball soup. Stan had either been kidnapped, he ran away, or committed suicide. Any of these situations felt so unlikely that Kyle tried not to dwell on them for long. He wished he had some kind of idea as to what happened… he suddenly heard someone walk behind him.

"Are you okay today Kyle?" asked the person.

Kyle looked up to see the form of the man with thin brown hair and glasses.

"I don't really know to tell you the truth M. Ryland," Kyle said heavily.

"Want to talk about it?" Mr. Ryland spoke, concern on his face.

Kyle shrugged and the man took up a seat next to him. "What's troubling you today young scout?"

Kyle sighed. "It's just that- well, that boy who was reported missing- well, I know him."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Stan. He's my best friend."

Mr. Ryland's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He coughed to clear his throat. "Is he now? I didn't know that."

"Yeah. Not like I needed to tell you or anyone else here. But he is."

Mr. Ryland frowned. "You are from South Park, aren't you? Of course, you probably did know-or do know- Stanley Marsh."

Kyle nodded. "It's been a rough week. My best friend is missing and I don't know anything about it. He- he left a weird note with his parents but I'm still confused. It didn't give anyone any leads. I'm- I'm scared…"

Mr. Ryland didn't say anything for a minute. He gripped the boy's shoulder for a second. "What do you think might have happened?"

Kyle pushed his lunch away. "Either one of three things: one, he ran away, two, he was kidnapped, or three he- he committed suicide." He swallowed thickly.

Mr. Ryland was careful with his words as he prompted some more out of the kid. "And what do you think is the most likely scenario?"

Kyle shook his head. "That's the thing, I don't know. Yes he's tried running away a couple times before but it never last longer than a day. He wouldn't kill himself either. I guess the most likely scenario is he was kidnapped. We've gotten into some crazy shit since preschool. Maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time and someone grabbed him and threw him in their car. Or something…"

"Hmm… if you say each scenario is unlikely to have happened, then it must be very hard right now to want to engage in much activity today. I understand. Really, I do."

"Do you really though? Have you ever had a best friend disappear like this before?" Kyle asked shrewdly.

Mr. Ryland sighed heavily. "I don't want to get into it but something happened to my little brother. Years ago. When we were kids."

Kyle looked at the man then back down. "Oh, sorry."

Mr. Ryland was quiet again for another minute or so. He placed his palms together in a thinking motion. "Well Kyle, now that I know what is troubling you, if you ever feel the need to confide in me about anything- especially about your little friend Stan, please, don't hesitate to do so."

Kyle couldn't help but grin slightly. "Thanks Mr. Ryland. I know I really shouldn't play favorites or anything but since I've been here- well, I think you are one of the best councilors at this day camp."

Mr. Ryland smiled and got to his feet. "You're a smart kid son. I'm sure if there is anything out there that will help aid you in finding out about your friend, you'll be able to see it."

Kyle looked puzzled for a second before he sat up straight. "You're right. I'm sure there's a clue somewhere. We've been through so much together already, if anyone could find out where he is, it would be me." He beamed at the man again. "Thanks a lot sir."

Mr. Ryland smiled. "You don't have to call me that Kyle. But you are welcome. Now, why don't you finish up your lunch? After, we are going to be rehearsing for that dramatic skit that we're putting on for everyone's parents. The performance is in a few weeks and we really do need our Moses for it you know."

"Right. Thanks again for listening to me. I might take up the offer of talking to you again next week if I find something."

Mr. Ryland nodded. "I look forward to it," and he left.

Feeling slightly more hopeful about Stan's disappearance, Kyle dug into his lunch quickly before hurrying off to meet up with the other kids to round out his day.

_Ohh! Mr. Ryland works at Kyle's camp! What does this mean? Who else here is a Harry Potter fan? I thought it would be a nice way to add in my other favorite fandom into this story and view it in the eyes of a first-timer, one who starts on book 3 instead of 1. Prisoner of Azkaban happens to be my favorite. Btw, it was relatively easy to write Stan's mood and thoughts during his 'life is shit' phase. I have struggled with depression all my life so know exactly what it feels like to feel hallow, like nothing can bring you joy ever again. I wrote the aftermath of the episode YGO in a story called Smile Like You Mean It. Also, there have been new chapters added in Tales of Toddlerhood and Welcome to the Marsh House. I'd appreciate it if you gave them a read. Thanks._

_Lots of love: Rose, June 28, 2019_


	5. When Caring Hurts

**WHEN CARING HURTS**

April 7th

Ryland basement

It was night and Stan was busy reading more of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He was now on chapter seven and so far was engrossed. He had met Harry's friends, Ron and Hermione, while everyone was staying at a wizard hotel where a lot of other magical shops along a secret pathway was located. There Hermione had bought a cat called Crookshanks which of course Stan was happy to read about. Harry had an owl, Ron had a rat, and now Hermione had a cat. He couldn't help but think how fun it would be to go to a magical school where they allowed you to take with you a pet. He had also found out that said escaped prisoner from the wizard prison, Azkaban, Sirius Black, had escaped and was out to get Harry. Stan could imagine it being pretty stressful going into school knowing some crazy man was out to get him yet the school year started by chapter five. That's when things got difficult to read again. Harry had encountered a creepy being called a dementor that made him feel horrible and cold and caused him to faint. As Stan read on he met up with a kid called Malfoy who seemed to be just as horrible as the Dudley character. There was also an introduction to a magical animal called a hippogriff which Harry presumed was the creature on the cover of the book.

Before Stan knew it he was on page 128 of the 400 paged book.

"_Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me- yet."_

"_He's making it up," said Ron savagely. "He's trying to make you do something stupid…"_

At that moment Stan's head shot up as he heard feet on the other side of the wall. He quickly put the book under the thin mattress of his cot and a few seconds later the thin form of Mr. Ryland appeared in the cold dark room.

"Good evening Stan. How are we fairing tonight?"

"Same," Stan glared.

Mr. Ryland was smiling, perhaps more so than Stan had seen him do. He also had with him his usual bag and Stan could only venture a guess as to what was inside. The man shook his head and even gave off a small chuckle. Stan was on alert now.

"I must apologize Stan but I can't help but feel happy at the moment. For you see, I just discovered something amazing today while I was out. For you see son, I just found out who your best friend is! How wonderful is that?"

Stan felt his heart skip a beat but he shook it off to appear calm. "You don't know who my best friend is."

"I do so Stan. Of course I should have known, judging by the messages and missed calls left on your phone. Oh? Would you like to see your cell phone Stan?" The man noticed Stan's eyes light up slightly.

"I- I would," Stan said softly.

"You're in luck I have it here"- he reached into his bag and pulled out the boy's cell phone. Of course he didn't hand it over to him. He clicked the home screen and stood a foot away from the boy and showed the boy his phone. He clicked the phone icon. "Look here Stan, you have 82 missed calls so far."

Stan's heart sank at that thought of so many missed calls from those he cared about.

"Want me to break it down? Thirty-two are from your mother, twenty-two are from your best friend Kyle, thirteen are from your father, ten from Grandma Mara, and five are from Grandma Ellen. Oh, and you have nearly as many voice mails. Fifty-two have been left by your mother. Want to hear one?"

"_No_," Stan shot at the man, not knowing how he figured out his relation to Kyle. Of course his parents were listed as 'Mom' and 'Dad' in his contact list but Kyle wasn't listed as 'BFF' or anything. Before he knew it the man clicked on a random voicemail.

"This one is from two days ago, at 9:04 A.M.," Mr. Ryland grinned and tapped it.

"Stanley? It's Mom. Please pick up your phone. Everyone is so worried about you. If I did anything to make you angry with me I'm sorry. Please just come home baby. I miss you so much," Sharon spoke before the audio cut out.

Mr. Ryland scowled down again. "Ohh, this one is fun too. From the fourth."

"Stanley, baby, it's Mommy. _Please_ tell me where you are. It's been a week and we haven't heard from you. I know you get into crazy situations often but you always call home when you're away. I haven't heard from you at all for a week. Please call, text, anything. I'm going to continue to call until you pick up sweetie. I love you so much, come home soon…"

Stan gripped the dirty hat on his head in frustration. Hearing the pain in his mother's voice was almost too much to take. "Please, please stop."

Mr. Ryland tapped another voicemail.

"Stan? It's me, Dad. Listen uhh, if I did anything to piss you off lately, um, I'm sorry. Yes I did mess up your soccer game the other week and I'm sorry. But you have to understand, the home brew contest I participated in was very important. Anyway, come back home. Call us. Something. We miss you son." Randy ended the message there.

Mr. Ryland chuckled at this. "Classic deadbeat drunk father antics, am I right?"

Stan felt anger surge in his veins. "He is not a deadbeat dad. Yes he likes to drink but he is not some asshole like you. He's involved in my life."

Mr. Ryland's eyebrows rose. "Oh is he? So this missed soccer game your father mentions was just a one-time thing?"

Stan opened his mouth but shut it again.

Mr. Ryland poised his finger over one more voicemail. "And this Stan, is from your best friend."

"Dude, Stan, where the hell are you? I'm worried. You never do shit like this. Police are saying you might have killed yourself, it's fucking crazy. But I know you wouldn't do that dude, that's just lame. You're stronger than that. In fact, you're stronger than almost anyone I know. Whatever has happened, you'll get through it. I'll help in any way I can. But you have to help me too. Listen, I should go. We're all still hopeful you'll return safe and sound. But we're all stressing out, wondering what the fuck happened. I'll call tomorrow. Hang in there Stan, wherever you are," Kyle voice faded and ended.

Stan cast his eyes to the floor now. He could feel them sting but he didn't want the awful man to see.

"How sweet. I mean, who else has a friend that calls them up so often? And leaves voicemails like that?" Mr. Ryland was still smiling.

"Shut-_up_!" Stan screamed, standing on top the cot now.

"What is it Stan? You don't like hearing how much your loved ones miss you?" the man feigned shock, happy in knowing he was getting to the boy.

"That's my fucking business! That's my phone! Give it to me!"

"I admit, it is sweet that your best friend calls you up more often than your own father. That must be a very special friendship you have with Kyle. It would be a shame if something were to…uproot it."

"Shut-up! Shut-up!" Stan demanded.

"I have never had such a close friendship during my childhood so you must treasure it. Hold onto the idea that Kyle is worried about you more than your father. Hold onto the thought that Kyle thinks he can do anything at all to find out where you are. It's sweet. Nothing will come of it but still…sweet," Mr. Ryland drawled on.

Stan growled and made a move to knock out his own cell phone from the man's hand but of course he missed. Mr. Ryland's expression changed from amusement to stern in a second. He got up and reached into his usual bag. Stan was sure he knew what he was searching for.

"Please don't do this, please," Stan pleaded weakly as the man came forward with the syringe in hand. He was already feeling weak and the struggle with the man was hardly there. Yet again his left arm was pricked and Stan felt a weird warming sensation seep into his bloodstream. He looked back at the man helplessly.

"And here I thought I was doing something nice for you tonight Stan. Allowing you to finally see if your loved ones miss you. Well now I know better than to excite you by showing you your phone. I will see you tomorrow. Pleasant dreams." And Mr. Ryland left the basement.

In little time at all, Stan felt his body slump over to the left and he passed out.

_Kindergarten. So far it had proven to be an okay enough time. He had his bestest friend Kyle there with him the entire time so he made it worthwhile. Every project or pairing he had to partake in, Stan always chose Kyle and Kyle chose Stan. Mrs. Bergman, their teacher, had them pair up a couple times with other students in the classroom but Stan and Kyle threw a fit about it and so after a while, their teacher just let them be. It was a Monday and it was a pretty big day in the classroom- each kid in class had to present a job that started with a specific letter of the alphabet, complete with costume and explain a few things about said career. Mrs. Bergman had assigned each child with a different letter. Kyle had been given the letter 'D' while Stan was stuck with 'P'. Stan wanted another letter but their teacher didn't give him one. He just couldn't think of a job cool enough that began with the letter 'P'!_

"_I don't see what the big deal is Stan, there are plenty of jobs that start with a P," his mother told him days ago._

"_No there isn't!"_

"_What about pet sitter? Or pet groomer?"_

_Anything that started with 'pet' was too obvious in the five-year-old's mind. Everyone already knew he loved animals! His dad suggested police man but Stan had just dressed up as a police officer for Halloween last month so he didn't want to do that again. Plus he already had a good idea what job Kyle would come to class to present and that he would do a really good job with it. He did not want his best friend to outdo him. In the end, Stan reluctantly rested on 'Painter' and came into school that Monday dressed in red overalls which his mother splattered with paint as well as a pallet and paintbrush. Sure enough when he saw Kyle that morning he frowned._

"_Hi Stan! Look at me! I'm gonna be a doctor today," Kyle beamed as he showed off his scrubs and white lab coat. He was also carrying a plastic case of kiddie doctor tools._

_Stan was one of the first kids to go up to the class to present. He nervously looked at his classmates as he fiddled with his paintbrush._

"_Um… I gots the letter P so I chose a painter. Um, painters wear messy clothes. Um, I would think they get paint ever'where 'cause it's a messy job," Stan began._

"_Okay Stanley, is there anything else you would like to add?" Mrs. Bergman asked, pen and paper in hand._

"_Umm, painters paint stuff. Like big pictures and stuff. My mommy told me there's a famous one called the Moaner Liser. Um, I didn't really want the letter 'P'. I wanted letter T for TV man," Stan grumbled and took up his seat on the carpet, arms crossed over his legs as he pouted._

"_Um... okay, thank-you for that Stanley. Up next- Kyle?"_

_Stan gave his best friend a hard look as he walked up confidently._

"_Hi, I gots the letter D. I chose doctor 'cause I think it's a pretty cool job to have. Doctors work in hospitals and special offices all over. There's act'ally many kinds of doctors. There's ones for your head, teeth, and even feet! The one for feet is called p-poditrist," Kyle recited. "No matter what kind of doctor there is, he or she has one job- to make you feel better. And I think that's cool. It takes a lot of years to be a doctor. I'm just dressed as reg'lar doctor," Kyle spoke as he showed off his outfit. "Doctors sometimes wear white coats like this and sometimes have special tools. Again, depends what doctor it is. When I grow up, I wanna be a doctor, that's why I chose it. That's all," he finished with a smile._

"_Very good Kyle! That was very good indeed," Mrs. Bergman praised._

_Stan shot daggers as his best friend sat back next to him. He moved slightly over, not wanting to sit too close. During snack time Stan was still trying to ignore Kyle. Right after snack it was recess and Stan got up to grab a bucket to play with at the water and sand table but he felt a hand on his shoulder._

"_Stan? Is something up?" Kyle asked._

"_Pff, guess you really think you're a head doctor, huh?" Stan had sneered._

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_Just now! You just had to go up and show how much betterer you are than me!"_

"_Huh?"_

"_I knew you'd go as a doctor, just to show how much smarter you are. You think I'm a dummy," Stan said as he looked at his hands._

"_I never said that dude," Kyle looked confused._

"_Well you think it. You just love showing the teacher you're so smart. Then you get mad at me when I don't know somefing!"_

"_What's that gotta do wif today?"_

"_A doctor is a smart person. A painter's not…"_

_Kyle rubbed his hands together. "Painters can be smart…"_

"_You think I'm stupid. And even stupider for being a painter. You think you're sooo cool, Mr. King Doctor Man!" Stan shot._

_At this Kyle's temper rose. "Maybe I _do_ think you're stupid Stan!"_

_Stan gasped._

"_You wanted letter T to be a TV man? What the hell is that?"_

_Stan felt his face flush. "The people on TV on all the shows and stuff."_

"_Dummy! They're just actors! Or news people! There's no such thing as a TV man! Duhhh!"_

_It was the first real fight, or falling out, that Stan had had with Kyle. Honestly, kindergarten wasn't that long ago and such memories were still plenty fresh in his mind. He went three whole days without talking to Kyle and it was tough. His dad told him he'd make other friends, or perhaps he would grow closer to existing friends, such as Cartman. Yeah right. Stan was hurt that Kyle had indeed called him a dummy. School was boring those few days they didn't talk or play together. The two cracked at the same time and they both apologized and acted as if it never happened. If only such arguments could stay so simple since. Flash forward four years from that moment and Stan recalled the resentment of his best friend when he believed he was trying to impress his ex-girlfriend Wendy. Yes he believed him when he said he would never date his best friend's ex, but that entire egg project made Stan feel like crap. Of course Stan wouldn't want to see Kyle and Wendy getting along fine and working together after class! Kyle was smart; he should have figured all this out Day 1 of the project._

When Stan awoke from his slumber he made no move to get up. He was growing tired of revisiting his past but he had no way of stopping it. Yes, maybe holding his tongue now and again would be helpful but Mr. Ryland pissed Stan off so easily, it was difficult to resist saying or doing something. Stan made no notion that he was aware Charlene had entered the room to take in his vitals after. He stared blankly ahead, wondering how much more of this he could take.

_April 10__th_

As time went by Stan really was beginning to wish he had a way of knowing what day it was. He tried keeping count in his head every time Mr. Ryland had come down around eight since it was to be expected by now. But at this point Stan had lost track of the days. Of course it was hard to concentrate for long with his severe lack of food. He had been given food for the third time during his stay two days ago. This time he had been given a bowl of tomato soup. It was lukewarm at best and it didn't come with a side of toast or a grilled cheese sandwich but Stan drank it up in seconds. Surely it had been at least two weeks since he had been stuck in this horrible man's basement?

If there was any silver lining Stan had a book to immerse himself in during those long days of otherwise staring at the walls. He had now read 198 pages of the 435 page story. He was sure at this point if Cartman had found out he was enjoying a book like this he would rip on him. Anything that was anything at all was reason for Eric Cartman to point and laugh at someone. Kyle read books in his free time, everyone knew that. But Stan? Again, not if it were more than 200 pages and this book was double that. At this point Stan had discovered creatures called 'boggarts' that took the form of whatever a person feared most. Of course Stan had plenty of time to contemplate what a boggart would turn into if he had faced one. Maybe a snake. Then again he was sure there was something else he'd fear more. Death was an obvious choice. Maybe seeing himself dying in this basement, never to be found by his loved ones? Never getting the chance to tell his parents, sister, and friends how much he loved them. Stan didn't want to dwell too much on that though, he couldn't give up, not yet.

Rain was once again splattering against the sides of the house. It had been years since such a storm took place in town. Stan didn't know what time of day it was. It was dark out judging by the tiny basement window. He was currently rubbing his left leg and foot. He had taken off his sock and rolled up the material of his jeans on that side- it was easy to do so since he had obviously lost weight since his capture, thus the jeans were looser. He tried using the limb as little as possible since the chain over it was heavy. He could see bruising around the area of his ankle. It wasn't broken but it was painful. As he was rubbing the area above his ankle he suddenly felt something land on his shoulder.

"Argh!" Stan yelped, thinking it was some kind of spider or bug. He got to his feet and looked around wildly for whatever had touched him. "Whatever the fuck you are come out! I've got no patience to deal with your bullshit!" he heard squeaking below. Cautiously, he leaned forward to see- "A mouse?" a small furry critter sat on the floor cleaning its face. Stan's heartbeat returned to normal. He grinned slightly and held out a hand. "Hey there little guy…"

The mouse stayed put as it was cupped into the hands of the little boy. Stan held it up to his face, keeping one hand over it so it wouldn't run off. "You scared me you know. But that's okay, I'm sure I just scared you too. What are you doing down here anyway? Did you sneak in from a crack or pipe or something from the rain outside?" Of course the mouse didn't answer, not like Stan expected it to. Slowly, Stan opened his hands up and allowed the mouse to crawl down his arm. It went about his cot, sniffing around but didn't run off. Stan sighed. "I know, it's not much. But umm, if you wanna stay awhile, you can. I could use the company."

Stan picked the mouse back up. He smiled. "I've never had a mouse before. I have a dog and cat back home. I've had a few goldfish in the past, a couple ladybugs, and even a squirrel. Only for a week, my mom let it out when I was at school. She never said so but I know she did." Stan allowed the mouse to sniff his finger. "I guess I should give you a name if you're gonna stick around. Well, I'm reading Harry Potter right now so I'm going to name you Lupin. He seems like a cool character so far. Do you like that?" Stan felt loony for talking so openly to a rodent but he didn't care, it was better than having to answer to Mr. Ryland, or Charlene who didn't tell him anything either. Stan spent the rest of the afternoon allowing the mouse to run around his arms and on the cot, happy it didn't try to run off altogether.

Night had fallen. The sound of feet on the basement stairs was heard and the form of Mr. Ryland stepped in at eight, as per usual.

"Good evening Stan. How are we tonight?"

Stan didn't answer.

"I ask again- how are we?"

"Same," Stan barely voiced.

"Now, do you have what I need tonight?"

"No."

Mr. Ryland shook his head in disappointment. "Hopefully you do soon Stan. It is getting to be a pain having you down here, having to feed you and look out for you."

"You don't feed me or look out for me," Stan's voice hardened as he looked up. "Now why are you here if I don't have what you want?"

Mr. Ryland smiled as he took out his green bowler hat. "It's question time tonight son. I know I haven't given you a chance to ask one the past few days. I apologize. After I answer I want to show you another little surprise you might find amusing. Go on then." He held the hat to the boy's hand.

Sighing, Stan reached in and pulled one out. "Am I your first ever victim?"

Mr. Ryland rubbed his chin. "Ohh, interesting choice. You are indeed lucky number one Stan. I haven't attempted to kidnap any other children before you. I'm not going into detail but let's just say the opportunity was there and so I took it. And you were just the right child for the…purposes I have. Now then, would you like to see your little surprise?"

Stan didn't say anything but watched as the man took out his cell phone from his bag again.

"Yes, it's very nice to see your phone again, isn't it? I know phones and such are very important to children these days. I have noticed a little pattern as the days have gone by. Your mother calls your phone three times a day. Every morning, noon, and night. How sweet, she hasn't given up on you yet, has she?"

"Shut-up!" Stan yelled.

"But that is not what I wanted to show you. No, it appears you finally received a phone call from your sister, Shelley! How exciting!"

Stan glanced back up. How did the man know Shelley was his sister? It's not as if he listed her as 'sis' in his phone. Hell no.

"I do find that a little odd though. Through-out all of this, is appears you only have one phone call from your sister. Why's that? Not very close?"

"Oh god, not now…" Stan moaned and gripped onto his dirty hat.

"That is unfortunate," Mr. Ryland sighed as he walked around in a small circle by the cot. "Siblings should always get along. I got along great with my little brother when we were little. I'm guessing Shelley is older than you Stan. Unless your parents gave your little sister who is seven or so her own cell phone. Kind of young, don't you think?"

"Shut-up! Shut-up!" Stan continued to yell.

Mr. Ryland stopped walking now and turned around to face the boy. "What is it? Your sister a touchy subject manner?"

"Grrr, please just stop it," Stan placed the palms of his hands to his eyes.

"I apologize; it must be rough having a sister that doesn't care. One that is forced to see how you are by your parents. I mean, both your grandmothers and your best friend called you with their tales of woe before your own sister did. She didn't even leave a voicemail," Mr. Ryland mused.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," Stan continued to say.

"Do you wonder if your sister is worried about you at all Stan?"

"Shut the fuck up and give me my phone!" Stan raged.

"Imagine, going almost two weeks without seeing your own little brother and being prompt to call him by your parents. I would be worried sick if I didn't hear from _my_ little brother in two weeks. I wonder if she even noticed you were missing all this time?"

"Shut-up! She did so! She does care," Stan felt his voice tighten as he said this. Did he even believe his own words?

Mr. Ryland laughed. "It is a tough pill to swallow isn't it? A sister that doesn't care."

Stan leapt from his cot and tried reaching for his phone even if he knew he wouldn't get it. He was too weak. He could only look on helplessly as Mr. Ryland reached into his bag to pull out the syringe. He didn't fight it this time; he knew he wouldn't be able to. He just turned his head away as he felt his left arm being pierced a fourth time by the mystery drug. Mr. Ryland was saying his usual spiel about 'pleasant dreams' before he left. Just as Stan slumped on his cot, Lupin the mouse came sniffing about out of a hole in the wall.

_Stan was happily content in his bedroom that Saturday afternoon. He had set up many of his favorite toys out in his room to create a city worthy of only one superhero to save- Batman. He climbed up on his desk chair with his favorite Batman action figure in hand. "Once again Gotham City is under attack by the one and only Sea Monster and only Batman can save the day!" he announced before tossing a stuffed octopus into the city below. "But what's this? Pirate Pete is on the Sea Monster's side too!" he had a pirate figure attack Batman in air. "Take that Batface! Wif Sea Monster and me we're gonna take over all the world!" "Not while I'm here!" Stan had Batman say and he jumped off his chair into a pile of pillows and had the action figures fight in midair before running around his bedroom, AKA, Cotham City._

_Suddenly there was a tap on his door. He looked over to see ten-year-old Shelley standing there with her best friend Krissa Haming behind her._

"_What are you doin' here?" Stan frowned._

"_Ohh, nothing big. Just that Krissa and I were bored and came up with a fun new game. Want to know what it is?" Shelley asked._

_Stan looked back, suspicious. "I dunno Shelley. I'm kinda busy right now."_

"_Don't worry. It's a quick game. But we need three people to play. We need… somebody small to really make it work," Shelley was smiling now as was Krissa._

_Stan looked back at his city and his Batman action figure in hand. "I dunno…"_

"_C'mon, it's super cool," Krissa chimed in._

"_But Batman didn't even get to save the people from the burning apartment building," Stan pointed out to a stack of blocks at the foot of his bed with a few more figures on top._

"_That can wait. C'mon, we really want you to play," Shelley wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He had no choice but to allow her to steer him to the direction of her bedroom._

"_What's the game called?" Stan asked as he stepped inside._

_Shelley and Krissa exchanged a dark look._

"_It's called Stop!" Shelley answered._

"_How do you play?"_

"_One of us tickles you until you yell Stop! Does that sound fun?" Krissa asked the six-year-old._

"_Yeah!" Stan smiled._

"_Sweet." Shelley got up to lock her bedroom door._

"_Why're locking the door?" Stan asked._

"_It's how you play," Shelley shrugged. At that moment Krissa pounced on Stan and wrapped her arms around his, pinning him against her front._

"_Wait! Wait! What're you guys doing?" Stan cried and struggled against the hold. He saw his horrible sister come forward with a piece of paper. "Shelley, Shelley please, what're doing?" Shelley grabbed hold of his right hand at that moment. Stan was already crying at this point. And in one fluid motion- she swiped the paper between his first and middle finger. "Ahhh! Stop! Stop!" Shelley pretended not to hear. She went to the next one with the same result._

"_We're going to do it with every finger so this might take a while!" Shelley chuckled. Swipe! A third time._

"_Stooopp! It hurts, it huuurrtss," Stan sobbed._

_Shelley went at it again. By this time San screamed, "Daddy! Daaaaddyyy!" as loudly as he could. Thankfully Randy heard and a few seconds later there was pounding on the bedroom door._

"_Shelley? Shelley open the door this minute young lady!" Randy demanded._

_Krissa dropped her hold on Stan who ran into his dad's arms as soon as the door opened and cried and cried._

Ten-year-old Stan tossed around in his cot as another wave of memories took over…

_It was a Friday afternoon. Stan could remember that it was a Friday because he found it very lame that he had to go in for a dental check-up that day along with his sister. But it was okay; hopefully things would go by quickly enough even though the office ran slow at times. There were only four dental offices in town at the time. Plus he would be back to school in time for the last recess of the day. So when Dr. Karik did his initial exam and he had the usual x-rays taken and the pretty lady cleaned his teeth real good with that bubblegum toothpaste, he expected to leave not long after. Especially since Shelley had been seen first so no doubt she was already done. But then Dr. Karik called his mother in and explained that he had a cavity. He would need something called a 'filling' to be done in a couple weeks. Stan was only six; he didn't exactly understand these words. He only knew you had to brush real good so your smile looked healthy._

"_Finally you damn turd! What did you do, throw up on Dr. Karik again?" Shelley sneered when Stan had come out from the man's little office with his mother._

"_Shut-up you bitch!" Stan bit back._

"_Stanley! Watch your mouth," Sharon snapped. "Sorry it took a little while longer Shelley, looks as if your brother got his first ever cavity. He needs his first filling in a couple weeks."_

_Stan found it very hard to concentrate on the stencil set he got as a prize when he could feel his sister's eyes on him the entire car ride back to school. At the time both he and Shelley still went to the same school and after their mother dropped them off again, Shelley gave him one more curious look before she retreated up to her fifth grade classroom on the second floor. Stan went back to his first grade room just as Mrs. Hillgry was going over the grammar lesson for the day to the rest of the class. Stan was feeling very annoyed the rest of the day as Shelley continued to stare at him even when they went home after school. He finally lost it over breakfast the next morning._

"_Stop staring at me!" he yelled over his Frosted Flakes._

"_Sorry, I just can't help but think about you needing a filling in a couple weeks," Shelley blinked back._

_Stan glanced behind him as his parents went about the kitchen fixing their breakfasts._

"_Why?"_

"_Well, do you even know what they're going to do to you Stan?"_

"_They're just gonna fill the hole or whatever in my tooth…" Stan mumbled. He could already sense his sister wanted to provoke him. It wasn't going to work this time!_

"_Do you know how?"_

_Stan frowned into his cereal. Truthfully, he didn't know much. He was sure his sister knew but did he dare ask? Could he believe anything she told him?_

"_They're going to drill into your tooth. Drill real deep down. That's what that burring sound is you sometimes hear at the dentist," Shelley explained._

_Stan still didn't want to believe her so he stayed silent._

"_Of course it's not very fun to have done so they're going to have to numb the spot up. Do you know how they do that?"_

_Stan licked his dry lips. "No…"_

"_They give you a shot. Right in your gum!"_

_Stan gripped his spoon and glared at his sister. "You're lying. You told me bafore they use shots at the dentist but they don't."_

_Shelley put her hands up in defeat. "Fine, don't believe me ask Mom and Dad."_

_At that moment Sharon and Randy had taken seats at the table for breakfast._

"_Dad, they don't use shots at the dentist, do they?" Stan asked a second after his father sat down next to him._

"_Huh? Oh, yeah, they do," Randy absentmindedly said as he picked up the paper to read._

"_But- but they don't go in your gum, do they?" Stan looked around fearful now._

"_Stanley, what has your sister been telling you now?" Sharon exasperated._

"_Do they or do they not go in your gum?" Stan repeated._

_Sharon and Randy glanced at each other and then at their son._

"_Oh no! It's true!" Stan got up and away from the table. He could hear his father call back and say 'come back son, it's really not that bad' as Shelley cackled her head off._

_The two weeks up to the appointment not much had happened. Only on the last few days did Shelley remind him again in great detail what they were going to do. She even pointed out scary dental images online to him from the computer. Stan tried hard to act as if he wasn't bothered but he was tense as ever the day of the appointment. He had been able to be looked over by Dr. Karik without struggle the past few years. That morning however he had to practically be dragged to the chair by his mother and when he saw the instruments set out, looking exactly like they did in the images Shelley showed him, he panicked. He ended up crying and throwing up on the dentist and the procedure itself was traumatizing even if it didn't exactly hurt. They indeed did inject him in the gum. Shelley was telling the truth. He had gone for a while after that not knowing who or what to believe anymore. If she was right about that, she was right about everything. Perhaps Shelley really did know everything. She was four years older. It made sense. Shelley being right about something made his skin crawl…_

It took a few minutes longer for Stan to come out of his memories early the next morning. He peered open his eyes to see a fuzzy image of the basement. He rubbed his eyes with his right hand and the room came into focus, however he still stayed on his side. He saw the figure of Charlene walking towards him, sideways as he was still lying down.

"How are you doing this morning Stan?" the woman asked, kneeling on the floor.

Stan didn't say anything. He licked dry lips and tried to push himself off from his side. It was a little difficult this time; his left arm was starting to feel very sore and heavy from the repeated injections. Thankfully Charlene helped him sit up. She asked how he was again.

"Just tired…" was all he could tell her. He blinked half-open eyes as he watched her take off his jacket and take in his vitals. He looked down at his arm where the blood pressure cuff was. "Are you some kind of doctor or something?" he asked her quietly.

Charlene sighed. "I do work around others in a similar environment."

"Similar how? Like in a jail or something?"

"I can't stay and chit-chat Stan. I have to go," Charlene spoke as she wrote down his latest results.

"Do you know when's the next time I'll be fed?" Stan asked, looking at his hands.

"I really don't know Stan. I'm sorry."

Stan didn't say anything back or look up as she walked up and out the basement. He was beginning to see a pattern of sorts in relation to the memories he was forced to relive each time he was drugged. Being trapped in the cave, being depressed and falsely diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, negative memories with Kyle, and now horrible memories with his horrible sister. Not for a second did Stan think Shelley really cared about him to call him up during his 'absence' the past couple weeks. She was forced to do so by their parents, nothing more. And when she saw that he obviously hadn't answered, she shrugged it off and went about her day. Yes, Shelley had been a bitch from the very beginning. He was even told that she was a terror before he was born. And then Stan came into the world and…

"And what? She was jealous? What?" Stan wondered aloud. Shelley had indeed gotten more violent after she got braces but she had long gotten used to them, it being two years ago. She still pushed him around if he 'was in the way' or even as much as smiled at her. Was he really that annoying though? He was told time and again that it was simply what older brothers and sisters did- pick on their younger siblings. Yet Kyle never treated Ike like crap. The difference however was that Kyle did want a brother or sister. He was happy when his parents told him they were adopting a baby from Canada. But Stan had been around now for ten years. Surely Shelley had plenty of time to get over her jealously and try to actually bond with him?

What did piss Stan off too was that he knew he loved and cared for his sister. Everyone in his family drove him nuts often but he would still do anything and everything to make them happy at the end of the day. It was who he was. Shelley told him many times already his heart got him in more trouble than it was worth.

"Pff. Easy for her to say, she has no heart…" Stan mumbled. Maybe there was no reason to try and make sense out of his sister. Maybe he did have to accept he would always be her punching bag. But it still did make it difficult to go the rest of the morning knowing that indeed, Shelley probably hadn't given him much thought since he disappeared.

_April 12__th_

_Marsh house_

Shelley kept telling herself she had better things to do that Friday after school. That's the way it had been the past two weeks now. Doing something, anything with one of her few friends meant she didn't have to think about her missing brother. Being at home was almost becoming suffocating. Her parents fought often and were simply neglecting normal parental duties. Not that Sharon and Randy were neglecting Shelley, they were simply too occupied at the thought of Stan missing that such things like grocery shopping and laundry had taken a backseat. Thankfully Shelley knew how to do her own laundry even if she was used to her mother doing it most times. She had also forced her mom to go to Henry's Market a couple times now to pick up some food. This was difficult to do of course.

"I don't know what to buy. Should I get another chicken breast in case your brother comes home this week?" Sharon spoke as they walked to the butcher shop of the store. "Maybe I should get some more chocolate chips and make some cookies, just in case Stan comes home tomorrow. He'll be so happy if he comes home to home-made cookies," she would say.

At this point Sharon had stopped going into work, not wanting to miss the moment Stan might walk into the door. And so Shelley glanced at her as she went downstairs that evening. Sharon was currently watching TV, although not really paying attention to what was going on the screen.

"I'm going out for a little while," Shelley spoke.

Sharon gave her a small nod. "Be careful then. And keep trying to call your brother Shelley."

"Yeah, right…" Shelley stepped out and locked the front door behind her quickly. She had lied to her parents and told them that she indeed had been calling up Stan every day. Honestly, if he hadn't answered any of their numerous calls yet, what made them think _her_ call would be the one that Stan answered? She had finally called him up a few days ago. No answer, like she suspected. And yet here she was on her way to a house she never cared to visit unless she was desperate. And she was starting to feel that way. So she walked down Bonanza Street, down a few more streets until she reached Brighton Street and Franklin Way. She turned left on Franklin and walked a little way down the street until the grayish green house came into view. She sighed, wishing she could get this all over with already.

_Meanwhile, at that house…_

Kyle was feeling frustrated as he tried to put together any information he could about Stan's disappearance. He had called for the help of his other friends but so far hardly any leads. Of course Cartman wasn't of any help so far.

"Any fucking thing could have happened, that douche is probably dead by this point," Cartman spoke as he drank from his can of Dr. Pepper as Kyle had a large whiteboard set up in the basement. On one side was the strange note Stan left for his parents. Kyle had memorized it word-for-word and had written it down to try and make more sense of it.

"Now Eric, don't say that, there's still a-a chance Stan could be around," Butters frowned.

"Statistically speaking, once a child has been missing for two weeks, the chances he's found alive are slim," Token was saying with a slight frown.

"Damnit just shut-up everyone!" Kyle shouted. "Now I don't need speculations as to if Stan is alive or not. I was only asking if anyone could give me a detailed description of Stan's activities Thursday the 28th?"

No one spoke for a few long seconds.

"I- I d-do recall seeing Stan coming out of the boy's bathroom b-before last recess ended," Jimmy spoke.

Kyle nodded and wrote this down. "I was with him by the monkey bars the last part of lunch recess when he told me he had to use the bathroom."

"It was a Thursday so that meant it was Computer Lab day. He was sitting right next to me at computer 6," Butters said.

Kyle nodded. "Anyone recall anything else?"

The others looked at each other.

"Honestly Kyle, it was just a regular Thursday. I don't think any of us can think of something Stan said or did that day that was different," Butters shrugged.

Kyle frowned as he stepped back from his whiteboard. On one side he had written down a timetable that loosely outlined what Stan's day looked like on the 28th.

7:50 A.M: Stan corners Kyle, needs to 'discuss' something

8:00 A.M.: School begins. Morning warm-ups.

8:30 AM: Social studies

9:20: Math

10 AM: First recess

10:20 A.M.: Computer Lab time

11: AM: Movie and note-taking on the Rocky Mountains

12:15 P.M.: Lunch/ 2nd recess

12:50 P.M.: Quiz on Rocky Mountains

1:20: Reading/writing

2:15 PM: Science

2:35: Go over homework assignments/ Kyle gets called out early

2:45: School is over… Stan disappears?

No one said anything for a few minutes after Kyle filled the timetable out. Finally-

"Doesn't look like you came up with shit Jew," Cartman commented.

"Arghh! Fuck you! If anyone is to blame for Stan's disappearance it's you- you fat tub of lard!" Kyle raged.

"_Me_? Why the fuck would I have anything to do with anything?"

"Stan's new bike!"

"What the fuck?"

"Ever since Stan got that sweet new BMX bike you have been bugging him to ride it. You've been sick with jealousy so you had to get your revenge. Make San pay for having such a sweet new ride," Kyle explained.

The other boys looked over at Cartman now as if expecting him to confess to this crime.

"Oh whatever you fucking Jew," Cartman rolled his eyes as he flung his empty soda can behind him. "Use me to justify anything that _you_ may have done to cause Stan to disappear. Typical."

"_Me_? Why the hell would Stan go off because of me?"

"Oh I don't know, perhaps he was sick and tired of having such a faggy filthy Jew rat as a best friend!"

"Guys, not now…" Kenny sighed just as Kyle opened his mouth to retort back.

Kyle backed off, only because it struck a nerve to hear such words normally spoken by Stan spoken by someone else. Suddenly there was a knock on the basement door. Kyle went over to the bottom of the stairs to see his mother standing at the top.

"Kyle bubbe, someone else is here who might like to help you out in- in finding Stan," Sheila said, a little emotion in her voice.

"Um, sure, let them in…"

A second later Kyle's heart leapt from his chest as the form of Shelley Marsh came into the doorframe.

"_You_? What the fuck are you doing here?" Kyle demanded as she made her way down. Shelley didn't answer. "Really Shelley? Why the hell"-

Shelley grabbed hold of Kyle by his jacket and flung him down the rest of the basement stairs.

"Do not question anything I do you fucking turd. I haven't had another little turd to push around in two weeks so I wouldn't get on my bad side if I were _you_."

Kyle nodded curtly as he rubbed his now smarting arm. Shelley made her way to where the boys were gathered. Clyde scooted his chair away from her in fear.

Kyle cleared his throat. "A-hem, so anyway, as I was trying to figure out… what Stan's day might have looked like Thursday the 28th, the day he disappeared. Um, Sh-Shelley, is there anything you might want to add or…look over?"

Shelley glanced at what was written on the whiteboard so far. "The turd seemed eager to get out of the house that Thursday morning," she said.

"Okay… um, do you know why that might be true?"

"I think Stan was pretty annoyed with everyone at home by Thursday. Our dad forgot about his soccer game, our mom didn't give him his allowance," Shelley shrugged.

Kyle raised a brow, knowing there was another reason Stan looked annoyed that morning two weeks ago.

"He _might_ have been mad at me too. I hit him the night before," Shelley rolled her eyes.

Kyle nodded and wrote down this information under a column titled: Why? Not much else was discussed that evening and soon the other boys left the basement, Cartman glaring at Kyle as he left but not saying anything. It was now Kyle and Shelley alone in the basement. Kyle sighed.

"Look, I have to ask"-

"Why? Why am I here to try and find out what happened to my stupid turdy little brother? Is that it?"

"Well, yes. You don't give a shit about Stan. You never have," Kyle said sourly.

Shelley glared as she got to her feet. Kyle took a step back, afraid she was going to hit him. But she just began pacing the floor.

"I had to come today you meddling turd. Things at home are pretty bad right now. My parents are constantly at each other's throats. Keep blaming each other for what happened. And nobody really knows what happened," Shelley said heavily. "For me, of course it's nice to not have Stan's stupid face within twenty feet of me for once. The bathroom upstairs is clean for once. He's not whining about picking up dog crap in the yard or turning off his computer at night. But back to my parents… they're pretty worried. They're getting restless not knowing anything. Dad's mad Mom stopped going to work. Says he misses Stan too but it's not fair if only he has to go into work each day. Mom is mad that Dad isn't more understanding. How can he go to work or do anything if Stan could be dead? And that's just scratching the surface of the fights they've gotten into lately."

Kyle nodded as she spoke, eager to know more.

Shelley sighed and stopped pacing. "Honestly? I need to do something to bring Stan home. That's what it comes down to. My parents aren't in the right mind to do much. I figured if anyone is doing anything to find out where that damn t- Stan is, it would be you."

Kyle exhaled. "I really don't have much to go on yet. But I'm trying."

Shelley nodded. "Well if you need my help, I'm here…"

"Thanks. But just to make it clear- you're only doing this because you know your parents miss Stan?"

"Of course getting Stan back home as safe and sound as possible is the ultimate goal. But I- fuck, even I am starting to- I mean- things are a little different at home now. Two weeks without that turd around is nice. But c'mon, it's just not normal. Not even for him. You know what it's like. You have a little brother, right turd?"

Kyle nodded slightly.

"They're annoying. You push them around," Shelley made a fist and punched her hand. "But you don't want someone _else_ to do it to them. If someone has hurt Stan"- she made the same fist, this time punching a couple times.

Kyle nodded yet again, throat tight. "We will find out what happened. And we will find Stan. As safe and sound as possible. I promise."

Shelley nodded back and went to the basement stairs. She was about to ascend before she turned around again. "I swear, if you tell anyone at all what I just told you"- she made a motion as if she were to choke him.

"Of course Shelley. Not a soul."

As Kyle stared back at his large whiteboard hanging in the basement he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. There wasn't much information to go off of yet. He had been leaving messages on Stan's phone every day now, telling him he was going to find him and to not give up. But at this point Kyle was simply feeling awful. Token was right, what were the odds that a child that had been abducted two weeks ago would still be alive? It felt as if there was a huge boulder resting on the redhead's shoulder. If Kyle succeeded, he would make sure to never let Stan out of his sight ever again. Everyone would be relieved he was okay and life would go on as normal. But if he failed… he'd be letting down so many people. Even Stan's horrible sister would miss him if he were gone. But above all, Kyle would feel as if he had let Stan down. And that was not something he was prepared to deal with. And so bucking up the little courage he felt inside him, Kyle plunged on with his notes until he was forced to stop for dinner.

_It took a little while to get this chapter going, don't really know why. And it ended up something I wasn't expecting- such as Stan's memories being the majority of this chapter. Which only means what I originally had planned will just have to wait until the next chapter! Tee hee. Who else is excited about the news of season 23 of South Park returning Sep 25__th__?! Please check out Tales of Toddlerhood and Welcome to the Marsh House, there's been a few updates there for a couple months now. Thanks. Please review before you leave._

_Lots of love: Rose, July 19, 2019_


	6. Best Friends Forever

**BEST FRIENDS FOREVER **

April 13th

_Broflovski__house_

Kyle awoke in a sour mood that Saturday morning. His family didn't bug him over breakfast asking what was up which he was very grateful for. However around three that afternoon there was a knock on his bedroom door. He sighed, tearing his eyes away from Stan's mystery note he had written down on a new piece of paper, and looked to see who it was.

"Kyle? Are you almost ready to go?" his dad asked.

Kyle scoffed and went back to the paper. "No. There's no reason to go today."

Gerald sighed as he stepped into his son's bedroom. "Look, I know you're doing all you can to find Stan but you have to take a break. Have some fun at camp."

"I can't Dad! Not today at least. You know what they have planned. I can't participate in that."

"But Kyle, everyone is looking forward to seeing you. Ike really wants you to go today too."

"But he's already going with _his_ best friend. He doesn't need me to be there for him on- on Best Friend Day at camp…" Kyle spoke, resting his head in his hand now.

"Then take along another friend," Gerald suggested.

"No, you don't get it Dad. It's Best Friend Day. Stan's my best friend. No one else. If I can't take him along then I don't want to go."

"You can still have fun Kyle," Gerald spoke, hand on his son's shoulder now. "I bet there's going to be other kids there that didn't bring a friend for today."

"I'll look like an idiot! I bet they're going to have all sorts of contests and games set up that you can only do _with your best friend_. I'm not going," Kyle crossed his arms in a very final way.

Gerald looked at his son's room; papers and such were strewn about now and on his computer were a few tabs open with titles such as: Child Abduction in Colorado, Child Suicide Rates, and Common Mental Health Ailments in Children. He could see a slight shadow under his eyes and he kept rubbing his eyes and tapping a pen on his desk.

"Kyle, I think you need a break from all this. You're losing sleep. You need to go outside, have some fun. I know it will be hard since we still don't know anything about Stan. But try to enjoy yourself on his behalf."

"Dad"-

"I'm sure the Marshes appreciate everything you're doing so far to find him. But let's close out of these websites for now. Put away all your notes and spend the rest of the day and night at camp. Besides, you told me this Best Friend Day event was coordinated by Mr. Ryland. You told me he's your favorite counselor there. Don't want to disappoint him by not going, am I right?" Gerald gave a slight grin.

Kyle looked down, thinking hard. He glanced up thirty seconds later. "I _guess_ I could go. But since it is Best Friend Day and my best friend is MIA right now… I think I have an idea to make it seem as if Stan's still there."

Gerald nodded and stood up again. "Great. How about you quickly pack your overnight bag and meet your brother downstairs soon so we can take you to camp."

Kyle quickly got off his desk chair and hurriedly began putting something together. Last week the camp counselors informed the children at the camp that they would be holding the first official Best Friend Day at the R.A. Milnetz Jewish Camp where the kids were allowed to bring in a friend for all kinds of activities that would last all night into the next morning. Kyle could only sigh in a defeated way when he first heard of the event. If Stan were still around he knew the two would no doubt have a fun time together. Kyle would show off all the cool things there was to do at the campgrounds and the two would have a blast participating in sports, contests, crafts, ghost stories by the fire, and even learning a little Jewish heritage along the way. Not that Kyle ever crammed anything like that down Stan's throat since they've been friends, but it would have been nice to share some of his way of life with his best friend. Stan was a pretty open-minded person all in all. But today Kyle would have to improvise.

The events of the day started at four. Kyle and Ike (along with his best friend, Ryan) barely made it in time to Middle Creek. Counselors Mr. Poole and Mr. Ryland greeted each boy that passed through with his friend with buckets of trinkets. Mr. Ryland stepped back in puzzlement when Kyle walked towards them with a look of pride on his face.

"Kyle, where is your best friend today?" Mr. Ryland asked.

"He's right here," Kyle thrust his chest out and pointed to a pin that held Stan's picture on the left side of his jacket.

The two counselors shared a look.

"Kyle, how are you going to participate in anything if you don't have your actual friend with you?" asked Mr. Poole.

"I'll manage. It's Best Friend Day. Stan's my best friend so here he is."

Again, the two men looked confused. Mr. Ryland held out a hand and gently took the boy aside and away from the others. "Kyle, honestly, what are you thinking? Was this really the only option you had?"

"I figured it was the best one. Dude, my best friend has been missing for exactly 16 and a half days. I wanted to bring some awareness to it tonight. Others have to know Stan is missing. Even if they don't know what happened I want them to be aware," Kyle furiously spoke.

Mr. Ryland frowned as he stared at the pin on the boy's jacket. Stan was smiling in it, almost laughing. The man folded his arms as he looked down at Kyle. "You're really worried about him, aren't you Kyle?"

Kyle nodded to the ground. "I've been doing all I can to find out what happened. I'm still not any closer than I was a week ago. I- I feel like I'm failing him. His family…"

Mr. Ryland gripped his shoulder. "Not all the answers will be available all at once son. Unfortunately it takes time for the clues to surface in cases like this. You're a smart kid, I'm confident you will get there. In fact I know you will."

"You really think so?" Kyle looked up, slightly hopeful and worried.

"I do." Mr. Ryland cleared his throat. "Now then, why don't you get in there and get ready for some fun? I have some really great things planned for tonight. I'm sure if Stan could see or hear you he'd love to know you were playing on his behalf. That you were ready to show us all just how close you two are."

Kyle smiled and nodded. "Wait- but I'm the only one here who didn't come with a friend."

"Oh don't worry about that. There were actually two others that came without someone. The three of you can be on one team. How does that sound?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Wonderful," Mr. Ryland smiled, perhaps a bit too wide, and led the ten-year-old back to the others.

Once inside Kyle was placed into a small group with the two other 'loner' kids, 11-year-old Isiah and 10-year-old Tyler. Some of the other kids there thought it was unfair that there would be a group with an extra person in it but Kyle tried not to let it bother him. In his own mind, he was his own team. He had Stan with him. The first activity set up for his age group was tennis. Of course the teams were set up as doubles so Kyle switched around with the other two boys every ten minutes. Kyle's team did okay but at least it got his blood flowing for a little while. After this, another paired team game was set up- a huge lawn bowling game. Here, Kyle's team did well; in fact they were in the top three scores from the others. Well Stan was pretty good at bowling whenever they went out to the local bowling alley so he felt that had something to do with it. Around six everyone took a break to grab dinner. Kyle wished others would leave him alone as he ate but since nearly everyone there had now seen the pin on his jacket, they had to ask about it.

"This is my best friend. It was the only way I could have him here tonight," Kyle answered for the tenth time.

"Why couldn't he come?" asked a seven-year-old.

"He's missing," Kyle said shortly. He glanced over to counselor Mr. Ryland who was at the head table talking with Mr. Klein. Kyle wanted to set some time away from everyone and perhaps talk about Stan's disappearance again but knew there wouldn't be any time to do so tonight.

And so the night went on. There were crafts set up specifically and even counselors going up to each pair of 'friends' and asking for mini-interviews with them to be shared in the big end-of-the season send-off celebration the camp held each year. Kyle was currently designing a t-shirt with special paint at the craft section when he saw Mr. Ryland come up with a video camera in hand.

"Not right now dude…" Kyle sighed.

"I apologize young Kyle. But we want to talk to everyone tonight, even the ones that didn't come here with a friend. Mr. Klein has some great video-editing skills and always pulls off a really great compilation video after each camp season. Plus this is our first Best Friend Day at camp, as well as your first camp experience with us. We want everyone to be a part of it," Mr. Ryland spoke as he set his camera down slightly.

"I don't know…"

"C'mon Kyle, it will only be for a few minutes."

Kyle sighed and pushed aside his shirt. "Fine."

"Great. Now then, can you tell everyone who will be watching your name and age?" Mr. Ryland asked, camera pointing to the boy.

"I'm Kyle Broflovski and I'm ten," Kyle answered.

"And what brings you to Best Friend Day tonight Kyle? Who did you bring along with you?"

Kyle glared into the camera and stuck out his chest so his Stan pin shown clear to the camera. "My best friend- Stan Marsh."

"Okay. How did you and Stan meet?"

"During preschool orientation." Kyle grinned slightly at this now. "Our moms kind of forced us to meet. Then this other boy who's more of an ass than a friend to us- Cartman, made Stan cry. So I got into a fist-fight with Cartman and well, Stan and I have been BFFs ever since."

"How touching," Mr. Ryland said in a smooth and almost sinister way. "Now Kyle, can you tell your audience a little about Stan? What makes him such a great friend to you?"

Kyle was smiling wide now in spite of himself. He touched his Stan pin for a second. "Stan- he's great. He's funny, selfless, caring, and tough. We've both seen and done a lot in our short lives and I'm amazed at how Stan's been able to handle a lot of those things. He has such a big heart for animals. He locked himself, his friends, and some baby cows in his bedroom before so they wouldn't be turned to veal. Stan got really sick after he turned to vegetarianism and, well, I'm not surprised." Kyle shook his head in amusement. "It's how he is. Stubborn and willing to risk it all for the greater good. Yeah us guys rip on him for it. Yes we've made fun of him for having a girlfriend in the past. For being a pussy for shit like allowing his sister to beat him up or for being, I dunno, afraid of needles. But that's why Stan is so great." Kyle could feel his eyes sting now; he wasn't even aware he was still being filmed. "Stan's so normal. He sees the good in everyone and will give anyone out there the benefit of a doubt. He needs me as much as I need him. And dude, if you're listening somehow, I want you to know that. I know you think at times I'd be better off without you but it's not true. We're SPFs man. We're going to grow old together. Our kids will be best friends twenty years from now. Stan, wherever you are, whatever happened- we miss you and just want you home. I know you can figure a way out of whatever predicament you're in. You're headstrong like that. So be stubborn and don't take 'no' as an option. I- I'll see you soon dude…" Kyle sniffed before getting up and walking off to the bathroom before Mr. Ryland could stop him.

Kyle was only left alone for ten minutes before he was being asked to participate in the next activity. The boys gathered around in the Multi-Purpose Room where the counselors were standing at the small stage. Mr. Ryland took up the mike, tapping it a couple times as everyone chatted with one another.

"Quiet now scouts, quiet. Now, is everyone here? Great. For the next fun activity I have devised what I'd like to call the Ultimate Best Friend Quiz." The boys all began to turn to one another again. "Boys, I need your attention for a few more minutes. Now, this quiz might look daunting but I think it will show off just who is the very best pair of friends we have amongst us tonight." The man glanced at Kyle who was standing near the front. "This quiz is 50 questions long, all questions you will answer about your best friend. Each of you will have the rest of the night to complete it but we must ask that you do not go to your friend for the answers. For you see, whichever pair is able to truthfully answer the quiz the best wins a prize."

Kyle's eyes widened for a second as he looked around at the other boys. Everyone looked excited now. Again, Kyle somehow knew if Stan were here the two would knock this quiz out of the park!

"Now, lights go out at ten tonight. Each pair of friends will grade one another's work before the morning and before you all leave tomorrow, we should have a winner!"

"What's the prize?" asked a boy with wild blond hair.

"It's a secret Grant. But I promise you it will be worth it. Now, those of you that do want to participate in this ultimate test of friendship can come up here and grab the paper to fill out. If not, there will be a movie being shown in the media room in ten minutes. Remember, this is just for fun so don't be too harsh with each other. The one grading you is your friend after all. Thanks," Mr. Ryland finished with a sneer smile and turned off the mike.

Kyle stood there for a minute, not knowing what he wanted to do. Of course he wanted to do this quiz thing, he knew he could answer whatever questions there were. But there was only one problem- Stan wasn't around to grade it. However he didn't feel up to a movie so Kyle decided to grab a paper to fill out just for fun. He shared a look with Mr. Ryland when he went to get the quiz; the man gave him a curious look before he went off to talk with another counselor.

Kyle took up a cup of lemonade, some chips and dip, and sat at a table. He frowned as he looked down the quiz. It was indeed fifty questions long and titled Ultimate Best Friend Quiz! Did Kyle really know fifty things about Stan? He began to look at the questions. The first ones were basic enough.

1) My friend's full name-

2) My friend's parents' names-

3) My friend's siblings' names (bonus point for correct age)-

4) My friend's birthday-

Kyle read the other questions, feeling a little overwhelmed at how detailed and specific they appeared to be.

10) How did my friend and I meet?

11) Did my friend and I hit it off right away?

16) What does my friend want to be when he grows up?

17) What would my friend say I would like to be when I grow up?

20) What is my friend afraid of?

21) What are 3 words my friend would use to describe me?

30) What is my friend's favorite Disney movie?

33) Does my friend have any cool scars or birthmarks?

34) My friend is really good at-

35) My friend sees the glass as half-full or half-empty-

40) Does my friend have any allergies?

43) My friend would say this is his favorite memory of us-

At the very end of the quiz were three 'bonus questions':

1) Outside of family, friends, or teachers, name someone else important in your friend's life-

2) My friend's favorite toy when he was little was-

3) If my friend and I were sorted into Harry Potter Houses, he would be in- and he would say I would be in-

Kyle frowned, tapping a pencil to the paper. He took a sip of lemonade. Could he really answer these questions correctly? Sure, some he would have to think about for a minute but he felt confident that he would be able to do it. And even if he got some wrong, well, unfortunately he wouldn't know about it any time soon. Stan and Kyle had been best friends since preschool. They had seen much, done much, and told each other everything since the tender age of four. Kyle knew some of the other kids here hadn't known their friend for as long. If anyone could get the majority of these questions answered correctly it would be him.

And so Kyle went to the first question and wrote down _Stanley Quintin Marsh_. Then wrote in _Sharon and Randy_ in the next line, and so on. He smiled as he began to recall specific memories and things about Stan over the years and even things he had only told him weeks ago. His favorite band? He recalled Stan talking about how he had been listening to a lot of 'Muse' lately and had been blasting them on his computer last month. Did he and Kyle hit things off right away? Yes, he would like to say they did. Stan's favorite Disney movie? Easy, _The Lion King_. Did Stan have any cool scars or birthmarks? Well, he didn't seem too happy about the scars on his body but he did have a few. The one by his hairline from hitting his head when he was six. Then the scar on his left shoulder from getting shot when he was eight. The other scar on his right arm from getting shot again just a few months ago…

It was now lights out. The boys were all sleeping in cabins on the grounds that night. While the other three boys in his cabin were already asleep Kyle was sitting up in his bunk, still pouring over the quiz. Kyle didn't know why it was so important to him but he had to finish this quiz. He had to prove to himself he knew his best friend in and out. He had to prove to Stan that he knew him in and out. He would be angry if he didn't know what his hidden talent was. The name of one of his cousins. Someone outside family and friends that Stan liked. The question Kyle thought over the most however was the final bonus question. If Stan were sorted into one of the Harry Potter Houses, which would he be? Kyle was a fan of the series, both the books and films. Stan had never seen or read them yet. Still…

"Okay dude, speak to me… I have to get this one right. What are you? Heh, I know what you aren't… definitely not a Slytherin," Kyle whispered to himself as he looked at his Stan pin on his pillow. It was now a toss-up between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. He thought back on the various adventures and crazy things they had done together as well as things Stan did without him around and how he usually reacted about them. He grinned and he finally wrote in _Gryffindor_. Satisfied that he had completed the quiz now, Kyle clicked off his flashlight and finally got under his covers to sleep.

Morning. While Best Friend Day hadn't been a complete bust in Kyle's eye, he was still glad to be able to go home soon. He ate breakfast in the cafeteria while the counselors looked over the results of the Ultimate Best Friend Quiz handed out the night before. All last night and the morning did Kyle see friends exchange their quizzes to grade. Many were angry and even annoyed when their friend couldn't recall a certain bit of info about them.

"You dumbass Sam! My brother's name is Jackson and my _cousin's _name is Corey! Not the other way around!" spoke a twelve-year-old kid as he slapped his friend's face.

Kyle didn't know why but he handed over his quiz to Mr. Ryland to look over as well that morning. Even if it wasn't graded, it was completed and he felt very confident about it. But of course he needed Stan around to look it over and tell him if that was so. No way would he win the mystery prize but oh well. All Kyle really wanted was for him to be home. Soon enough Mr. Ryland went up to the stand in the multi-purpose room and congratulated eleven-year-olds Matt Learner and Aiden Pierceton for their accumulative score of 40/50 correct quiz answers. They won two tickets to the World Candy Convention taking place in Denver in June. Kyle tried not to look too bothered by this; he wasn't a huge fan of sweets. The only time he ate much of it at all was on Halloween. What he didn't want he'd give to Stan, Cartman, or Kenny before heading to his dentist office to do a trade. For every piece handed over he'd get fifty cents. He wound up with $75 last year. A much better trade in his mind.

But Stan… Kyle rubbed his eyes as he thought of him. For Stan, going to the World Candy Convention would be paradise. He loved sweets. He wasn't fat like Cartman but, well, if given the chance to trade his candy in for money was an option at his dentist's office, well; Stan would probably have a difficult time letting go of the sweets. If Stan had been present for Best Friend Day no doubt would they get a near-perfect score and they would be heading off to sample candies from around the world. But Kyle told himself not to think on it for long; now that he was about to be picked up to go back home he would be able to peruse over his notes and websites to try and uncover something relating to his friend's disappearance.

April 14th

_Ryland house_

When Stan awoke that morning it took him a minute to even gather his mind around the situation he was in. Again, he didn't know exactly what day it was but he knew he had been down in this basement for over two weeks now. The days were now beginning to blur into one another, he no longer knew what time it was or what happened which day. When did he last eat? Was it two days ago? A week ago? Did it matter? Stan was beginning to not think it mattered much. At this point he was so starved of water and food that he simply wasn't feeling very hungry anymore. Perhaps it had to do with the mystery shot he was given- when was it? Every day? Every other day? He was beginning to notice his stomach felt uneasy after each trip down nightmare lane.

Stan lay in his cot, staring up at the single bulb hanging right above him. It had been off ever since his capture. He was glad, he'd hate for it to be on and shining down on him, how would he ever be able to sleep like that? He was barefoot, his hat off, his jacket unbuttoned but still exposing the blue t-rex t-shirt he had been wearing since his kidnapping. Suddenly he felt something tickle his neck. He slowly turned his head to see Lupin the mouse sniffing by. So far the rodent had been able to hold on. Perhaps he was stealing crumbs of food from the main floor of the house. And so far he smartly was out-of-sight whenever Mr. Ryland made his way in the basement. Lupin the mouse made his way down Stan's front before hopping off and sniffing at his foot. Stan couldn't help but grin as he lay in the cot, staring up at nothing.

"Stop… that tickles Lupin…" he then bit his lip as he contemplated how he should get himself up. It had begun to get much harder to do lately since he was so weak. If he rolled to his right side, it meant using his left arm to push his body up and that would be painful. Being given the mystery drug in his left arm each time was really making it hurt now. More so than his arm should feel after any normal shot. Of course if he rolled to his left side and used his right arm to push himself up, well, that would hurt too. He'd be placing all his weight on said sore left arm. It felt as if someone had repeatedly socked his shoulder. There was also a constant pins and needles feel running down to his fingertips. Stan had also noticed there looked to be a bluish bruise at the site. As much as he hated these 'acid trips' into his mind what was beginning to scare Stan was exactly what the drug was doing to his body. Surely if he was given any more of it he'd really begin to get sick.

Stan had finally made the decision of rolling onto his left side and push himself up with his right arm. He grunted as he rolled over and stayed like this for a few seconds before placing his palm in front of his chest and slowly pushed his upper body up. He gave a great sigh when he managed to sit up all the way. He rubbed his left shoulder as well as his greasy hair before slowly looking around. Mr. Ryland had told him the previous morning that he would be gone that night. Where he was going and why, Stan of course didn't know. It was nice not to see the man's ugly face for once come 8 o'clock last night but he knew the man was still keeping watch with the little video camera set up on the wall directly across from him.

Sometime that day Stan awoke from a stupor to hear the floor above him begin to rumble. There was movement as someone was shuffling around above him. Mr. Ryland must be home. However he didn't see him until night came, more specifically, eight o'clock.

"Good evening Stan. How are we doing?" Mr. Ryland greeted as he always did, with him the usual bag.

"Thirsty…" Stan licked his parched lips.

"I see. Well lucky for you tonight is food night so you will get to enjoy some nourishment before bed, isn't that nice?"

Stan sighed, looking at his bare feet. Again, the thought of being fed would have excited him maybe a few days ago. Now he was feeling sick thinking about food. Mr. Ryland set down his bag and looked at the boy.

"Now Stan"-

"_Stanley_," Stan hissed back.

"Before we begin tonight," the man went on as if there hadn't been an interruption. "I have to ask- do you have what I want?"

"No. It's always- no."

This time however instead of dropping the subject Mr. Ryland shook his head. "Tut tut, that won't do Stan. Time is slipping by. I had hoped you would have discovered what it is I want from you before this set time occurred. We are getting extremely close now and you still do not have what I want."

Stan frowned, glancing up. "What day is it?" he dared to ask.

Surprisingly, Mr. Ryland answered. "Today is April the fourteenth. Sunday. And I want what you have. I know it will come to you soon. Things will be better off once you figure out what it is. On all of us. The peace of mind your parents will feel when you give me what I am looking for. Your entire ordeal will change I can assure you."

If the thing that Mr. Ryland wanted from him was so important why didn't he just tell him what it was? Stan wanted to ask this but refrained, not feeling the energy to get into trouble by mouthing off with him and sent to Nightmare Alley yet again. Mr. Ryland cleared his throat.

"Now then, aren't you curious where I was last night?"

"Sure…" Stan whispered, looking at his feet again.

"I almost don't want to spill it but since you have no means of escaping, heck, why not? Stan, have you heard of the R.A. Milnez Temple?"

"No."

"Well they are located in Middle Creek. They hold a rather popular day camp for children in the surrounding Park County area."

Stan slowly raised his head now.

"Yes, sounding familiar now isn't it?" the man grinned. "You see, I work there on the weekends. It's my side-job outside of teaching. Of course I don't get paid much but it's still a rewarding thing to do in my free time. I am a counselor there, have been for three years now. I enjoy seeing so many bright happy faces during the camp activities. The day camp has a variety of things to do and we try to change it up every season. This year for spring we are holding a play that will be performed for all the parents at our end-of-the-season party. Oh, and your best friend, Kyle, has the lead role! But enough about that." He cleared his throat again before grabbing of the chairs at table and sitting on it facing the boy in the cot. "We had a really fun night last night. It was the first annual Best Friend Day at the camp! And yes, Kyle did attend."

Stan looked down at his knees as he fiddled with the material at his jeans. Why was he telling him this? "I don't really"- he began but was cut off.

"You see it amazed me just how, hm… how should I put this? _Dedicated_ your best friend is to you Stan. You would think he would have shown up with another friend instead but, well, let me show you a little video." Mr. Ryland pulled something new out of his usual bag- a laptop. He clicked on a couple things before turning the laptop to face Stan. He clicked 'play' on a video.

"I'm Kyle Broflovski and I'm ten," Kyle began speaking.

Stan's heart leapt as he saw his best friend sitting at a table, looking forlorn at the camera that was in his face. On his chest he noticed- was that a pin? A pin with his picture on it? He watched, transfixed for the next five minutes, drinking up every word Kyle spoke. Words about their friendship. About how much Stan meant to him. To see his friend on screen after not seeing him in two weeks… it's not as if Kyle knew Stan was now watching this video of him but he still felt more connected to the outside world than he had in a while.

"Stan, wherever you are, whatever happened- we miss you and just want you home. I know you can figure a way out of whatever predicament you're in. You're headstrong like that. So be stubborn and don't take 'no' as an option. I- I'll see you soon dude…" Kyle spoke and the video ended.

Stan sniffed and rubbed his nose, missing his loved ones even more now.

"Wasn't that just the sweetest video?" Mr. Ryland feigned a dreamy look, even placing a hand on his chest. "Kyle really thinks you'll be found. And you might, if you tell me what I am waiting to here. But that was such a nice video I wanted to share it with you. But there is something I wanted to share above anything else. For you see during Best Friend Day last night some of the kids there took part in what I dubbed 'The Ultimate Best Friend' quiz. Fifty questions to answer about your best friend. I came up with the questions myself. Kyle took part in this, naturally. After a kid filled out the quiz he would swap it with the best friend he had brought with him that night to grade. And, haa, as you can see Kyle's predicament, his best friend was not around for him to grade it."

Stan rubbed his eyes as he tried to listen. This was the most useful and interesting thing the man had said since his capture. True evidence someone out there was concerned and was looking for him.

"And so I brought you a fun activity to do tonight Stan." He reached into his bag and pulled out the quiz Kyle had filled in the night before. "You see, the pair with the overall best score won a prize. The prize was handed out already however if your best friend does indeed know you as well as he thinks he does, certain accommodations can be made."

Stan licked his dry lips. "You- you're saying Kyle gave you that? For me to grade?"

"Honestly I am not sure why he handed it in," Mr. Ryland shrugged. "All the other boys did it so I am not sure what your friend's intentions were. Perhaps he knew you would never be around to look at it so didn't want to hold onto it. Maybe he wanted to pretend you had graded it and I would call out your names as the winners of the prize. Whatever the reason, you now have the chance to grade his paper. And since this might take a little time I felt it was only fitting that you have something to eat." He reached into his bag yet again and took out a tuppaware to reveal the smallest portion of spaghetti out there. It wouldn't satisfy a two-year old. Along with the noodles was a mini can of Coke. Mr. Ryland handed over the food and quiz to the child and got to his feet. "Take all the time you need Stan. And since it might be long"- he tapped his phone and suddenly the bright light of the bulb above his cot turned on.

"What the hell?" Stan glared into the brightness.

"It is a basement after all so it can get dark. I will see you tomorrow Stan. Good-night."

Stan stared at his meager meal for a minute before devouring the noodles in a couple mouthfuls. He then took up the little can of soda in his hands, wanting very much to crack it open since he was deprived of liquid at this point but he was hesitant. Any other given day he would down a can of sweet bubbly soda without thought. But now… he was afraid what it might do to his depleting health. Yes he already knew soda wasn't the best option in terms of beverages but at least he usually had the option to brush his teeth after. Now after not doing so for over two weeks he was afraid soda would harm them. Stan's teeth weren't painful yet but surely the longer he went without brushing them the worst off they'd be? But he was dying of thirst and this was his only option. It had to be better than nothing at all. Mr. Ryland must have thought this out so that he'd have no choice but to drink something sweet and unhealthy. Sighing, Stan cracked open the Coke and downed it in a few gulps. It was so good…

After his 'dinner' Stan looked down at this Ultimate Best Friends quiz that was handed to him. Indeed Kyle's handwriting went all down the page. He was curious whether or not Kyle knew him as well as he claimed. Not that he would second-guess such a thing but he did wonder just what things he had told him and what he didn't. No doubt things he had shared far out-weighed anything. And so Stan began to read what Kyle had written and to grade him.

1) My friend's full name is: Stanley Quintin Marsh

2) My friend's parents' names are: Sharon and Randy

3) My friend's sibling's names (and age extra point): Shelley, 14

4) My friend's birthday: October 19th 2008

5) My friend's favorite color: Red and blue

6) My friend's favorite sports team: Denver Broncos

Stan sighed as he tapped the pen to his lip. "All right dude, this is all basic shit so far. I want you to wow me…"

14) My friend always munches on: cookies

15) What we do for fun: Play football or baseball, video games, board games, toys. Anything.

16) What my friend want to be when he grows up: Zoologist by day, football star by night

Stan laughed as he read this.

17) What my friend said I will be when I grow up: Doctor

18) My friend's best and worst school subjects: Best-reading worst-math

19) My friend is introvert or extrovert: Both

20) My friend is afraid of: Snakes, needles/hospitals

And so Stan read and reread each and every answer to each and every question. He wanted to make sure he had read everything correctly since he was feeling so weak and starved at this point that it was difficult to concentrate for long. The very last question confused him for a moment however. It asked which Harry Potter House he and his friend would be in. Stan didn't know the differences between the Houses; they hadn't been laid out clearly in the book he was reading yet. But then he saw a small arrow on the paper so he flipped it over to see a description of the Houses.

Gryffindor: Brave, daring, nerve

Slyterin: Ambitious, cunning, resourceful

Ravenclaw: Clever, knowledge, wit

Hufflepuff: Patient, kind, loyal

Kyle had written down Gryffindor for Stan and Ravenclaw for himself. Stan drew in a deep breath as he looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears into the single lightbulb ahead. Kyle really thought he belonged in Gryffindor? A House for brave people? As Stan thought of his situation he didn't think he was feeling very brave at all. He didn't know what his friend was playing at but he slowly marked that question wrong, the only one out of all fifty.

April 16th

_Ryland house_

Mr. Ryland had been in a weird mood for a day now. When he met up with Stan last night he simply told him he had only one more day to give him what he wanted before things would take a drastic turn. How that would be Stan didn't know but he didn't want to find out. The man wouldn't be coming down until the day was up. It was still daytime judging by the small bit of sunlight coming in from the basement window. It was now Monday which meant a school day so Mr. Ryland might not be in until later. Stan thought and thought all morning. Why was he on limited time all of a sudden? What did this man want from him? Why would mid-April be so important? What significance did it hold?

"I don't know what to do Lupin," Stan whispered to his mouse friend who sniffed around in his hands. "He might kill me if I don't have an answer tonight. I'm scared… I just wanna go home but I don't know what else he has planned. I don't want that weird shot again. I don't want to go into my past… but he says I have to in order to remember. But what? What's so important about today? Or tomorrow? I can't remember…" the boy's voice strained as he stroked the fuzzy head of the mouse with a finger. Stan stared hard into the blank wall across from him. He racked his brains and hardly blinked for the next thirty minutes. And then it hit him. What was so significant about April 17th. And if this was what Mr. Ryland wanted, Stan would indeed be screwed.

"Fuck…" he whispered, not even noticing the mouse scurry out of his hands and out of sight.

_Sorry this chapter is slightly late. I had to rewrite A First or Second Sleepover in Tales of Toddlerhood from scratch. I recall seeing an ad for a dentistry a few years ago that offered to 'buy' a kid's Halloween candy. I thought that was a pretty cool idea so used it here. I am amused that Stan does seem to love his sweets in the show. He explains how pop rocks were 'one of his favorite foods' in 'You're Getting Old'! What Harry Potter House do you think the boys would be in? Also, I have written out all 50 questions for the Ultimate Best Friend quiz Kyle does for personal use since I wasn't sure what I would and would not use from it for this story. If anyone is interested in all of Kyle's answers send me a PM and I'll reply. I've babbled enough now. Please review, thanks._

_Lots of love: Rose, August 9, 2019_


	7. Missing: Ten Year Old Child

**MISSING: TEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD**

April 16th

_Ryland House_

Stan couldn't focus on anything that Tuesday. The one thing plaguing his mind and causing the restlessness was finally figuring out why Mr. Ryland was keeping him captive in his basement. If Mr. Ryland was not satisfied with what Stan was going to tell him (and he couldn't see how he would be) then who knows how much worse he'd take things. Maybe he would shoot him, killing him instantly. Perhaps he'd stop giving him food altogether so his desperation would drag out until the very end. Maybe he'd give him a fatal dose of the mystery drug and Stan would be sent into a coma or cardiac arrest. At this point any scenario seemed plausible. But if this was indeed what Mr. Ryland wanted from him then he would be disappointed to see Stan did not have an answer and even so… if it were so important Mr. Ryland would have told him directly what it is he wanted from him that first night he was kidnapped.

The only thing going for Stan at this point was the copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban that he had been reading the past week. During the lonely long hours in the basement he had managed to read all 432 pages of the book and could confidently state that he was a fan. Of the series? Not yet, it had only been one book after all. But if the others were just as engaging and full of adventure perhaps he would give them a read. If he ever had the chance to do it. He didn't suspect the others were in the box of books he had gotten this one from. And now that he was so weak the very thought of pulling over the box towards him was laughable. And so he cherished that third book in the series with as much hold as he could. He had been keeping it under the thin pillow he had been sleeping on and so far Mr. Ryland didn't notice. At least, he didn't seem to care. But now that he had finished the book Stan couldn't help but still feel confused as to why Kyle thought he would belong in Gryffindor House. A House for brave people. Harry Potter and friends were in that House. No way did he feel he could have done half the shit they did in the book.

Stan sat staring at the walls all that afternoon. Perhaps if he were still alive at this time tonight he would consider rereading the book again. All Stan could do was hope and pray that Mr. Ryland wouldn't kill him, at least not today. Stan had seen kidnapping and other true crime shows on TV before, if the perpetrator really wanted him dead he would have done it by now. Whatever information Stan did or didn't have was valuable to Mr. Ryland and he would be of no use to him if he were dead. And so all Stan could do was hold onto this thought as the hours slowly trickled by.

He was reaching out for it- arms stretched far, further than he ever thought possible, as he did all he could to grab at the rotisserie chicken steaming up above him. He finally was able to see over the table the chicken was sitting at and saw a bunch of other tasty foods set out waiting for him. Tacos. Burriots. Pizza. Burgers. Sweet potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Bananas. Ice cream. Cookies. Cake. Chocolate pudding, a huge pitcher of bubbly Sprite…. When he was an inch away from the chicken the table crumpled under all the food and Stan snapped out of his dream.

"Good evening Stan," Mr. Ryland spoke above him.

Stan shook his head and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"How are we today?"

"I have what you want," Stan rushed after regaining composure.

"Oh?" Mr. Ryland's eyes went wide for a second.

"I- I mean, I know why you're keeping me in here…" Stan corrected.

It appeared as if Mr. Ryland wasn't expecting to ever hear these words. He took up one of the chairs from the desk nearby and placed it, backwards, facing Stan. "Well then Stan, please do tell me why you think I am keeping you in here."

Stan licked his chapped lips a couple times as he glanced at his hands then at the man. "I know the significance of today. Well, why you waited until today for answers," he began, voice soft and strained under lack of use and lack of nourishment. "I remembered…. I remembered the deadline for my dad's make-your-own-beer contest thing is tomorrow."

Mr. Ryland's expression didn't change, he just looked back slightly curious. "And why do you think I would care about that?"

"I also remember you asking me about it after one of my tutor sessions. You said to give my dad 'all the best' or whatever…."

Mr. Ryland still didn't change expressions. "Why do you think I would say such a thing Stan?"

Stan frowned as he looked at his hands again. "I dunno, maybe you wanted to try your hand at making your own beer but couldn't. So it pissed you off and well, you wanted to steal someone else's recipe. Take credit for their hard work. That's what you want from me- from my dad. His beer recipe."

Mr. Ryland rubbed his chin and fixed the glasses on his face slightly. "Well? Do you have it Stan?"

Stan gulped and he looked down again. "No," he said in barely a whisper.

"Interesting…"

Stan looked up again. "I'm sorry but I don't have it. I- I have no idea what goes into making your own beer. Yes I did help my dad out a couple times on it but it's not as if he ever told me what all went into it. I'm really sorry man but I don't have it. I don't have what you want…"

Mr. Ryland rubbed his chin for a moment before get got to his feet causing the boy to flinch.

"Easy there son…" the man raised a hand.

"Are- you aren't going to kill me right now, are you?" Stan's voice wavered.

"Not yet," the man said blankly.

"Was I right then? Is that what you want from me?"

Mr. Ryland nodded. "You got there in the end Stan. Good for you. This means I can finally continue with things. A little behind schedule but still, all should work itself out…"

"Huh?"

"I have a few things to take care of. I will see you later Stan." With that the man walked back up the stairs and out of sight.

Stan felt even more confused (if that were possible) after Mr. Ryland left. If that was what he was after, the beer recipe his dad had created, then why wasn't he angry that Stan didn't have that information? Was he wrong about why he was down here then? Stan remembered his dad explain the Make-Your-Own Beer contest to him that Sunday night before school. It did in fact sound like a cool idea. Even his mom was on board! And then a couple weeks later Mr. Ryland asking about it and saying that doing such a thing was pretty ambitious. Stan could see how someone would be jealous that his dad had apparently created a really good brew and would want to steal it and claim it as their own. Yet it didn't appear that cut and dry now. Clearly there was more on Mr. Ryland's mind and Stan was afraid to find out what it was. He someone knew his ordeal here was not over by a longshot and that scared Stan. If there was more to the beer thing than he realized Stan didn't know what it could be. All he knew was things were only going to worsen before they got any better, if ever.

April 17th

_Marsh House_

Now more than ever Shelley was beginning to hate coming home after school each day. Thankfully she had been able to go over to a friend's some days without her parents caring much. However she had to come home today if she wanted access to her stupid history book for homework that night. She stepped into the house and sighed when she came across her mother who was currently sitting at the breakfast table, hair a mess, notebook and phone by hand.

"Hey Mom…" Shelley trailed when she went into the freezer to get herself a snack. Sharon didn't reply back. Shaking her head Shelley went upstairs after grabbing an ice cream sandwich. She passed by her brother's room as she always did now. It was eerie and weird to see it so clean and calm for once. Yes their mother had tidied up his room the night of his disappearance but still... Stan was a messy kid and Shelley wanted to see that chaos again. He didn't go a day without disrupting whatever efforts their mother put into cleaning the room or Shelley when it came to the bathroom. Ungrateful little…

Growling, Shelley went into her room and turned up her radio as she began her homework. It was getting harder and harder to focus nowadays. If her parents weren't fighting about things then they were distant and hardly any words were spoken in the house. Again, Shelley was glad she knew how to do her own laundry and could pop in something into the oven or microwave for dinner most days although she hadn't really given cooking much thought yet. Even her stupid turdy little brother had begun to take an interest in the kitchen lately. Maybe it was because more often than anything the family had home-cooked meals so it was nice to know the basics to some of those things. Even if some days were easy, like Hamburger Helper or chili dogs, everyone ate something semi-homemade often. Shelley did have a little money saved and she had grabbed a bite-to-eat at a fast food joint around town but as of now she was starting to wish she had tackled easy cooking as well.

Shelley was glaring into her textbook when she saw her cell flash, signaling a text. She didn't recognize the number.

(850) 446-0778: Hey. I wanted to go over some things tonight

Shelley: Who the hell is this?

(850) 446-0778: Kyle

Shelley typed back: I don't recall ever given you my number

Kyle: I have my ways. Please, can we meet up at my place in an hour?

Shelley sighed but typed back: Sure

Shelley didn't bother telling her mother where she was going when she met up with her again downstairs. She was on a mission- a weird one but one nonetheless to find out what happened to her brother. She found herself at the Broflovski home five minutes later. She knocked, sighing heavily as she did so. Kyle opened the door.

"Hey…" he said softly.

She didn't say anything back so he just turned back and she followed after to his bedroom. There were books, papers, and a whiteboard strewn about in the room as well as a few tabs opened on his computer about child abductions and other such topics.

"Kind of somber feeling in here don't you think?" Shelley commented.

"Well it's kind of a somber thing that has happened, what with Stan disappearing and shit," Kyle bit back.

"Geez, okay, sorry." Shelley walked about the room glancing at everything.

"I was keeping this stuff in the basement but I couldn't help but think of things I had and hadn't written down or thought of whenever I was in bed so I had to bring this all up. Yeah I'm not getting a lot of sleep as I try to figure out something but at least it's all near me and I don't have to camp out in the basement," Kyle was explaining, rubbing his eyes.

Shelley folded her arms across her chest now, a deep frown on her face. "Why the hell did you call me up here today?"

"To get someone to help me out here."

"Looks as if you've done a good job by yourself…"

Kyle growled as he took up a seat at his desk chair. "Just stop bullshitting me Shelley. Either you care what happened to Stan and you want to help or you don't. And if you don't, not even if it means making your parents happy and things getting back to normal, then just leave. Yes I've done a lot of research on my own but I could really use the help of another pair of eyes. Another perspective. The older sister of said missing boy can be helpful. It's your call," he finished, throwing a stony look her way.

Shelley balled her fists up before letting out a long exhale. "Fine you stupid turd. I'll do what I can. I do want my stupid turdy brother back."

Kyle gave a curt not before pulling up a fresh copy of the note Stan had left for his parents two weeks ago.

"You kept that thing?" she asked, peering over his shoulder.

"No, I memorized what it said though. I'm pretty sure it's in police evidence now. Not like that means anything," Kyle said bitterly. "Anyway, this is one of the things that's been plaguing my mind like nothing else. I try to make sense out of it but can't. Maybe you can decipher something from it that I hadn't."

Shelley took up the paper and read aloud, "'Dear Mom and Dad, by the time you read this I will be far away from home. Lately, life has gotten too stressful and I don't feel I can continue, at least not here. Certain people are responsable for this turn of events. You know who you are. I cannot tell you where I am but I will be okay. Take care, love, Stan.' Besides the fact he can't spell…Well what has been bugging you about this?"

"The whole thing! It's all weird. It sounds like a suicide note but- but Stan would never…" Kyle rubbed his eyes. "I need to pinpoint what the most likely cause of his disappearance Shelley. Yes I know Stan in and out but in your opinion do you think he would ever…commit suicide?"

Shelley frowned as she took up another chair next to the boy's desk. "That is a loaded question turd. I think we all know that Stan has had…those kinds of thoughts in his head before. He has been depressed at least twice. But that doesn't automatically mean you want to kill yourself. And even if he really was considering it, why now? What reason would he have to do that?"

Kyle shook his head, tapping a pencil on his knee. "That's another part of the mystery. Apparently someone out there made him think it. Someone out there is responsible for Stan writing this. Someone is to blame and apparently whoever that is should be aware that they caused this."

Shelley looked troubled as she read the note again. "He…was angry at our parents that morning. Okay, fine, and me," she rolled her eyes when Kyle gave her a menacing glare. "Our dad was acting like his usual stupid self. Too busy getting wasted to pick Stan up from soccer and to hand out snacks. But for Stan to want to kill himself because of that? Our dad is always doing something stupid like this and I know it wasn't the first time he failed to pick him up from some sort of practice or another."

"But what if it was one time too many?" Kyle asked carefully.

Shelley sighed but shook her head. "Naw, I don't buy that. We all get pissed off at our dad but we still do love him. Stan is still close to him. When he's stable enough to act like an actual dad and not make Stan, our mom, or myself want to punch a wall. To say Stan killed himself because of Dad? No way."

"Okay. Then how about your mother? What exactly went down with that then?" Kyle asked as he wrote these things down.

Shelley grinned. "That's even less likely to be the reason Stan's gone. Apparently she took away his allowance for the week. And I'm glad she fucking did. _I_ had to pick up the slack around the house that week since that stupid turd neglected his chores. It's not my fucking dog or cat. I don't want to be the one picking up their shit. Good thing Mom was already mad at him because of his grades otherwise I'm sure she'd have given him something. She's always taking his side…" the teenager made a fist and socked her hand.

"Um- Shelley?" Kyle coughed.

"Oh, right. Well that's the gist of it. Mom took away Stan's allowance so naturally he was pissed off. But she has taken away his allowance before. She has grounded him and such in the past so it's not as if this was news to him. He'd forget about it soon enough. I mean, it's Mom. She's always there and you know, does her mom thing. Never forgets appointments or events or forms she needs to fill out for us. Takes care of us when we're sick or upset. Stan would never kill himself because of her either."

Kyle slowly gave Shelley a look as he glances up from his notebook. "I guess that leaves you then."

Shelley crossed her arms and got to her feet. "I am not the reason Stan is gone idiot. I've been picking on that brat since he could hold his head up. I was pinching him when he was a week old. He's used to me treating him like crap. So I beat him up when he spilled his stupid soda on my homework? He was being careless as usual. Paying too much attention to his ipad that he knocked over the can on my homework that I had just completed. He deserved it," she finished with a look of almost satisfaction.

"But what if it was one time too many?" Kyle repeated.

"Oh please you fucking turd, Stan's my brother. I kick him around plenty and he still comes back to me for advice. To tell me he loves me. To try and 'repair' our sibling-ship. His heart it too big to want to die because of _me_," Shelley finished.

Kyle looked at his notes then at the note from his friend. "So I guess it's safe to rule out suicide?"

"Unless he had some deep-seated mental problems that went unnoticed I don't think that's what happened."

Kyle sighed but nodded and crossed suicide out from his notes. "I know, Stan would never do that. I just wanted to make sure… but that just means the only other option is… he was kidnapped."

Shelley shifted in her seat, no doubt uncomfortable at the thought her little brother had been snatched by someone. "Yeah, maybe…"

Neither boy nor girl said anything for a full minute. Kyle shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "O-okay, so if that's the case then why the hell the note? It still doesn't explain the note."

Shelley read the note yet again. She frowned, rubbing her chin. "Did you ever consider the thought that it was forged or faked in some way?"

Kyle got to his feet to look at the words written upon the paper as if it were a brand-new finding. "But it's written in his hand-writing Shelley! Look! Look at how the Y's are formed- with the little loops at the tail. He spelled 'responsible' wrong! The letters aren't all lined up straight on the paper. He signed his name in CAPS. Stan always writes his name in capital letters if he's writing his nickname. He wrote this note Shelley!"

Shelley sighed again and turned away from the paper. "I'll have to take your word for it then turd. Honestly I never paid that much attention to how Stan writes. All I can take from it is the uneven letters like you said. But if you really think this came from Stan's hand… or maybe someone out there studied his hand-writing enough to be able to duplicate it."

"But who? Someone Stan knew or a stranger? And why? What's there to gain from forging a note?"

Shelley's head was bent down in a very troubled way. She looked to the floor as she spoke. "There…is a possibility Stan wrote it. That someone threatened or forced him to do it."

Kyle opened his mouth slightly. "What are you saying Shelley?"

Shelley sighed as she looked up. "I'm saying that there is a good chance Stan might still be alive. And if so, he's in very big trouble."

April 18th

_Colorado Geological Survey_

Randy had gone into work in a cumbersome mood that morning. Then again that's how most mornings played out the past couple weeks. He was annoyed that Sharon had stopped going to work at this point. Did she really believe it was just up to him to pay for the bills and whatnot? Of course he was worried about their son but he knew sitting at home expecting a phone call or for Stan to walk into the house was probably not going to happen. If he were to show up, if any leads or news about his disappearance were to prop up Randy would know right away. Of course he would, Stan was half his son too. And so he stepped into his office with a deep sigh that morning.

"Hey there Randy. How are you holding up?" asked fellow co-worker Marty.

Randy sighed as he set his jacket on a coat rack. "Same ol' Marty. Same ol'."

"Sorry. Well, if you need to get anything off your chest, just knock on my cubical."

Randy nodded and he took a seat at his computer to begin his work for the day. It was a rather tedious day as time seemed to go by extra slow. When lunch break came he took up the chance to hop in the car and drive to Subway for a sandwich. He didn't eat out too often, a lot of the time he preferred to make his own sandwich at home and bring it to work but his wife hadn't been going to the grocery store as often. Sure, he could do it too but he supposed it was just one of those things Sharon enjoyed doing without him. They usually had a big family grocery store trip every few weeks to buy the things they had to stock up on- toilet paper, frozen meals, packs of soda. But Sharon usually went to the store herself, or would take the kids if they were around for those weekly things. Well it had been a few weeks now since they had stocked up on lunch meat or sliced cheese so Randy had to go out to eat for lunch.

It had been a slow day so far and so Randy decided to check his e-mail when he came back to the office. He then spotted something from a One4one14 at gmail dot com that caught his eye. He didn't recognize the e-mail address but the title of the e-mail made him leap from his chair.

"Randy? You okay?" asked co-worker Nelson who just walked by.

Randy pointed to his computer. "I- I just received something from someone- I don't know who but the title- look!"

Nelson came over to look at the e-mail on the screen. "Important: Regarding your missing son.' Randy…"

"Should I open it? I don't even know who this One4One person is."

A few other colleagues came over now to see what was going on.

"Don't open it Randy. The first rule everyone is taught is to not open e-mails from unknown addresses," said one man, drinking from a coffee cup.

"It could be vital information. Your son's been missing for weeks Randy. You have to open it," said a female colleague.

Biting his lip, Randy clicked it open and backed away as if afraid doing so would unleash some virus onto the computer. Randy gasped as he saw what appeared on the screen- it was a picture. A picture of his son lying on what appeared to be a bed of some sort. There was a chain attached to his ankle. His eyes were closed. The picture itself was slightly fuzzy, as if it were a screenshot taken from a video. Simply captioned under the picture were the words: More to follow soon. Keep in touch. One4One14.

"Oh no, oh my goodness…" gasped the female co-worker.

"Randy?" Nelson asked, hand on his shoulder.

Randy just said there, staring at the picture of his son who no doubt was in deep trouble. He sat and stared, hands on either side of his face for close to thirty minutes. Only then did his boss tell him he should go home, it was evident he would be unable to work anymore today. Randy walked into his house, head in a fog. He walked past Sharon who was lying down on the couch, eyes staring off into the TV which of course she wasn't paying any attention to. Randy rubbed his eyes as he opened the fridge, looking around. No more beer. They really needed to go to the grocery store now. He opened the cabinet that held the other alcohol, needing a fix like never before. He grabbed a shot glass and poured himself whiskey. He threw back two more shots before he looked over to the sound of the front door opening. Shelley was now home.

"Wow, you're really going for the heavy shit. That's out-of-character, even for you, right?" Shelley commented as she searched the cupboards for an after-school snack.

Randy threw back another shot before shaking his head. "I- I have no beer. I need something Shelley."

Shelley looked at the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey. "That's not from Stan's secret stash, right?"

Randy's eyes grew wide as he clutched the bottle. "St-Stan? Oh god! Oh god!" he cried out before sobbing.

Shelley backed away, a little confused and shocked at his reaction. "D-Dad, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I know Stan no longer has any whiskey in here. Not after you and Mom grounded him when he came home drunk months ago. Dad…"

"Staaaann! Oh Stan, where are you?" Randy continued to cry.

At that moment Sharon glided into the room. "What's going on in here?" she whispered, voice hoarse from lack of use lately.

"Nothing Mom. Get back to staring at the TV," Shelley rolled her eyes. "Can I have ten dollars to grab some food for once? Krissa's going to get some Wendy's later."

Randy sniffed and blew his nose on a piece of paper towel that was near his hand. "Oh Sharon, Shelley, it was horrible. I- I got something horrible in my e-mail today. I don't know how to break it to you."

Sharon looked worried. "Does… does it have to do with my baby?"

Randy sniffed and nodded. Shelley took notice and was at her parents' sides again.

"Wait! You have news on Stan? I mean, you know something about the stupid turd's disappearance?" Shelley frowned, trying to save face.

Randy moved his finger in a forward motion, having his wife and daughter follow him to the office to the desktop computer in there. "It'll be easier to see than on my phone. I don't want to show you guys but this is what I was sent today…" he drew in a breath and opened the e-mail with the picture of Stan chained to a bed.

"What the fuck? Dad, you just got this today?"

"My baby. Ohh, my baby!" Sharon gasped before breaking down herself.

"Dad, who sent you this?" Shelley demanded.

"I don't know, I don't recognize the e-mail address," Randy confessed.

"Did you report it to the police?"

"I only just saw it maybe an hour ago."

Shelley's stomach bubbled as she looked upon the image of her little brother lying in a small metal-framed bed with a chain attached to his ankle. His hat was off as were his shoes. His eyes were closed-probably asleep. Even though the quality wasn't the greatest she was sure that he was dirty and skinnier. _More to follow soon. Keep in touch_. What in the hell did that mean? Who sent this? Shelley decided to stay behind with her parents the rest of the night. With the recent weird tip-off on Stan's disappearance Sharon had gotten to her senses just enough to order a pizza for dinner. For whatever the reason the family decided not to report the weird e-mail to the police- at least not tonight. They wanted to know if they would receive any more news about Stan before they had the authorities called in. Randy constantly checked his phone for any new e-mails and Sharon had the house phone in her hand, waiting for any word too. The family sat around the living room, the TV on the local news station.

Then it happened- at 7:30 that evening Randy's phone rang. He jumped up, almost dropping it before answering, his family gathered around.

"H-hello?"

"Mr. Marsh. How are you this evening?" spoke a soft yet husky voice.

"Who is this?" Randy demanded as he put the phone on speaker mode.

"Why this is the person who has more information about your missing son. You wouldn't want to take that tone with me, would you?"

"Where the hell is my son?" Randy shot into the phone.

"In due time Mr. Marsh. In due time. Did you receive the picture of young Stan that I sent to you this afternoon? Or, as he likes to be referred to as- Stanley."

"_Where is my son_?" Randy demanded again.

"Now now, I cannot begin to spill everything now can I?"

"How the hell did you get this number?" Randy asked as Sharon and Shelley stood around, worry on their faces too.

"So many questions. Your son is full of them too. You will get one question answered tonight. When I contact you again, you may have another. And so on, so forth."

"No you answer all my questions right now you fucking whore!" Randy spat.

"One question," the voice repeated. "Choose wisely."

Randy, Sharon, and Shelley stared at each other, clearly wondering just what to ask this man. Sharon then took hold of the phone and spoke into it, "Is he alive?"

A couple seconds past. Finally, "Yes. Your son is alive Mrs. Marsh. I knew you would come through. I shall be in touch again. Good night."

"Wait! Wait no! That's not all we wanted to know!" Randy yelled into his cell but no one was there. He turned to Sharon. "What the hell Sharon? I was going to ask how he got my cell phone number!"

Sharon's eyes were blazing. "I had to know if my baby boy is alive. Nothing is more important than that you son-of-a-bitch."

Shelley sighed as her parents stirred up yet another heated debate. She slowly made her way to her bedroom, head full of doubt and worry and confusion and not feeling any better than she did before the weird phone call.

_Same night_

_Ryland house_

Stan was on his side and he stared into nothing. He really did feel up to moving much at all that day. There was little reason in using the very little energy he had to move or sit up. What would be the point? It's not as if he had to go pee or anything. He couldn't remember the last time he went into the bucket by the small bed he was chained to. Mr. Ryland's form was suddenly filling the slanted frame Stan was looking at. The frame grew bigger and bigger before it took up a chair and sat in front of his face. Again, all sideways.

"Good evening Stan. How are we tonight?"

Stan licked parched lips. "Bad…." He whispered.

"You should feel happy now Stan! Because you did your part in figuring out why you're down here, you parents can do their part now in rescuing you. You know I just talked to them."

Stan slowly lifted his head. "R-really?"

Mr. Ryland dipped his head in a nod. "Like I said, things can finally fall into place. And if I know how your parents will react to certain things… well it will all go according to plan. You might even be rescued. You'd like that wouldn't you Stan?"

Stan slowly nodded.

Mr. Ryland was smiling now. "I do have to say that your parents are behaving exactly how I knew they would so far. I gave your father a little ring on his cell phone just now. I told him and your mom that they could ask me one question about your disappearance. Do you know what they chose?"

"No…"

"Well your father seemed stumped as to what to ask me. I'm sure there was a particular question he wanted to ask but didn't. As I suspected. Your mother took hold of the phone and asked a question before your father had the chance. She asked if you were alive. I told her that you were. Again, exactly how I expected your mother to react."

Stan was glaring now, lifting his head up slightly. "How do you know how they'd…react?" he rasped.

Mr. Ryland rubbed his chin. "This is an experiment of sorts Stan. Mothers and fathers act a certain way to certain situations. Your father, well, his part will play out soon. Your mother on the other hand wanted to know if you were alive. Naturally a mother's greatest worry is if her child is dead or alive."

"My dad cares too," Stan said with difficulty.

"Oh? You really think so?"

"_Yes_ asshole. He's my dad. I know he loves me."

Mr. Ryland held out a hand. "Don't stress yourself out too much Stan. Not with that load of crap coming from your mouth."

Great, another moment in which Stan really wished he had the strength to punch this man's face into a pulp. He weakly placed an arm out to push himself up.

"And just what do you plan to do if you manage to sit all the way up Stan?"

"Bite your fucking lips off," Stan said softly as he did indeed sit up all the way, although swayed in doing so.

"Stan it really isn't an issue worth fighting me over. Just rest in knowing at least your mother cares about you and is concerned. Dad has other things on his mind. The selfish man that he is."

Stan made a move to step out of the bed but his leg buckled under his weight causing him to slump over. Mr. Ryland sat him up again; at the same time lifting the sleeve up on Stan's left side. He knew what was coming and didn't fight it. Indeed a few seconds later he felt the sting of the needle going into it and a few seconds after it Mr. Ryland stepping back.

"A nice sleep will help untangle those thoughts in your head Stan. I will see you again tomorrow."

Stan fell like a ragdoll onto his back as his brain opened yet again to take him down the dangerous slope that was his worst memories.

_Stan awoke as usual at 7 AM that Wednesday morning. He walked downstairs to notice that it was quiet and clean for the first time in days. His father had been spending time cooking elaborate dishes almost every day for the past couple weeks and it had begun to get highly annoying to everyone in the family. It was a little odd no one was downstairs yet but Stan didn't think too much of it as he poured himself some cereal. Might as well eat something normal in case his dad did come downstairs and cook up avocado toast or quiche- whatever the hell that was. Stan went back upstairs and began to gather what he needed to bring to school that day. He glanced at his desk and noticed the flyer for the book fair was out on it. He almost forgot! There was supposed to be a really cool display of dinosaur books set out today and he didn't want to miss it. Thankfully his mother promised him that she would give him money for the fair so he didn't have to spend his allowance on it. Stan poked his head out the door and knocked on his parents' bedroom door._

"_Mom? Mom? You in there?" he waited a few seconds and knocked again. Sighing he stepped into Shelley's bedroom._

"_What the hell do you want turd?" she asked as she herself was packing up for school._

"_Is Mom around?"_

"_I don't know. Open your eyeballs and look for her yourself."_

_Glaring, Stan went around the house to see where she might be. "Mom? Helllooo? You promised me you'd give me money for the book fair today. Mom?" It was now 7:45 and he had to leave the house to catch the bus in five minutes. Angry, he popped open his piggy bank, took out the $15. 64 he had in it and hurried out._

_Nothing put a damper on Stan's day than seeing his dad acting as school chef when lunch came around. Again, his mom was currently at work or something and hadn't made him lunch the night before. Now he had no choice but to eat his dad's latest creation- some sliders made from bison with some weird cabbage slaw crap on top with some French fries tossed in weird herbs. When Stan arrived home he noticed the house was still strangely empty. Feeling apprehensive he went into the kitchen and noticed a note on the breakfast table. _Kids_ was written on the front. Frowning, Stan took it down and opened it._

_Shelley and Stan- I apologize but I had to get away for a little while. I have felt too stressed out lately and I need to unwind somewhere by myself. Where I'm not expected to be a wife or mother to anyone. I will be home soon. I brought some of your favorite things so you can pack your own lunches till then since I am sure your father is not going to give up his 'chef' dream anytime soon. Love you both. Mom_

_Stan couldn't believe it. He remembered showing his sister the note when she got home and both of them feeling lost and confused. That night Randy went about the kitchen fixing up yet another creation that didn't sound appetizing at all. He then went upstairs to post pictures of his dinner on Facebook. Stan wondered if he should show his dad the note his mom left but decided not to. She addressed it to him and Shelley for a reason. And for the next four days Stan and Shelley were subjected to Randy's lackluster effort at- well, almost anything. Stan ended up making himself lunch the next couple days with the food his mother picked out before she left to, well, he didn't know where. Randy was too engrossed in cooking that the laundry wasn't touched, nor any other house chore. _

_Stan was already missing his mom by the second day. Only on Friday did he finally bring up the fact that his mom was gone to his dad during a horrible day of filming him at school auditioning for his own cooking show or something. Whatever the hell it was. Randy appeared unconcerned and clueless that Sharon had even been gone all this time._

"_No Dad, that's enough! You need to be focusing on getting Mom back!" Stan demanded of his father._

"_Back from where?" Randy absentmindedly said._

"_Grrr! Mom's been gone for almost three whole days Dad! How have you not noticed?" Stan raged._

"_Hmm… Stan, make sure you get a good shot of the final meal, okay?" Randy spoke, indicating the lunch he had made that day._

_Those four days his mother was gone really sucked. His dad hadn't bothered to be a parent of any kind. He spent time on his computer making edits to the video footage Stan and his friends had no choice but to film of him. Randy had sent out copies of his Cafeteria Fraiche show idea to several television networks. For whatever stupid reason, the Food Network came by and shot a challenge at the school with Randy front and center. Stan did feel hurt that his mom wanted to go off and 'be by herself' for a while. It's not as if he intentionally did anything to cause her to run off like that. She was his mom. It was her job to take care of him and help him out, right? Then again he was sure his dad was the main reason she left. But it didn't stop Stan from hating life yet again. He just didn't know how his dad could be so careless and unconcerned his mom was gone._

_Stan had walked past his parents' bedroom and was certain he heard his mother in there with his father. Judging by the sounds coming from the room it was best to say hello to his mom after. He had gone downstairs to find his mother looking through her suitcase. He wanted to tell her he was happy she was home again. He smiled, hurrying to her, arms outstretched._

"_Mom!"_

His mom turned around and she was inches away from giving him a hug but there was a tug behind his head and he was pulled from these memories into a new set.

_He was sitting on a bench inside the Pepsi Center Hockey Rink. He looked over to see his mom walking his way._

"_Hey sweetie, did you have a good game?" she asked as she helped him out of his ice skates._

"_I think so. I tried real hard. Is Daddy mad at me?" four-year-old Stan frowned at his mother._

_Sharon sighed as she placed his ice skates into his duffle bag. "Don't worry about Daddy Stan. I know you tried your best to make that goal and that's all that matters."_

"_But he looked really mad when I missed it."_

"_Don't worry about it honey. C'mon, let's go. I'm sure you're hungry aren't you?"_

_Stan skipped off behind his mother as they walked out of the changing rooms to the main lobby. "Are we gonna go to Shakey's?"_

"_Of course silly. We do after every Friday game don't we?"_

_Stan saw his daddy standing there, arms crossed, scowl on his face. He was a little nervous approaching him._

"_Daddy? I did my best," he spoke._

"_Yes well sometimes your best isn't good enough! Sometimes you have to try harder than your best!" Randy scolded._

"_Randy, not now…" Sharon groaned._

_At that moment another little boy from his hockey team, Conner, waved at Stan._

"_Hey Stan! We're all going to Shakey's! Are you goin' too?"_

"_Yeah! see you!"_

_The ride home was awkward and quiet. Stan finally looked up from his Batman and Robin figures to see that they were not yet at Shakey's Pizza._

"_Daddy… this isn't the way to Shakey's," he commented._

"_After your disastrous performance tonight you don't deserve pizza," Randy barked._

_Stan felt a hole rip in his heart. "N-no pizza?"_

"_Randy, _not_ now," Sharon bit back._

"_No Sharon, now. Stanley there is no reason why you couldn't make that shot. The goal was right in front of you for the taking! How do you miss that?"_

_Stan felt tears well in his eyes. "No pizza?" he whined._

"_No pizza," Randy turned to his son for a second before he went back to looking at the road ahead._

_Stan broke down in a heap of tears. He tried his best, he really did! It was still hard to skate without falling. He didn't understand the rules. He just liked playing around on the ice with his friends and teammates. When they all got home Randy wasted no time yelling at his son some more about his failure. Stan was so consumed with sadness at this point he went to his room without realizing he hadn't eaten any dinner. Only when it was late- after eleven, did his mother walk into his room. He was so happy to see her, he hurried to her open arms but the scene shifted before the memory could play out. Before she told him she wasn't mad at him and snuck up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him to eat and promised to take him to Taco Bell tomorrow for a special lunch._

"_The ball got away from me! It's not my fault!" eight-year-old Stan was arguing with his dad after baseball practice._

"_You weren't paying attention, that's what happened," Randy waved an angry finger in his son's face._

"_I was just about to catch it! But as I was running to catch it Clyde shouted at me to throw it to second base so I tripped- my cleat got caught in the grass so I couldn't catch the ball. Now my ankle hurts."_

"_You let in two runs Stan! You guys were up 5-2 but with those two runs fucking Conifer was able to score in two more runs bottom of the 9__th__, winning the game 6-5!" Randy shouted as he carried his son's duffle bag with one hand and held a beer with the other._

"_Maybe if you weren't drinking you would have seen what actually happened," Stan bit back._

"_Hey! You will not speak to me like that, you hear? You've been playing baseball since you were five, you should have been able to catch that ball. You know what? Maybe you're just a crappy third baseman."_

_Stan's eyes went wide as they made their way to the car. "Screw you! I don't even like playing baseball anyway."_

_Randy stopped walking and turned to his son. "What a load of crap Stan. You like it. And even if you don't like it tough- you need to do enough after-school activities to keep you out of trouble and to keep you fit. It's every father's dream to see his son out there playing the great American game of baseball. Now stop complaining and get in the car."_

_Stan limped his way into the car. He wished his mother wasn't working that day. He'd have to spend time on the couch with a bag of frozen peas over his left ankle until she got home and could better look after his paining joint. 'Walk it off and get back in the game!' his dad had shouted after his cleat caught in the grass and his foot buckled. _What a pathetic excuse for a dad_ he had thought as he lay with the bag of peas over his leg…_

Stan's eyes fluttered open the next morning. He could only swallow painfully and turn his head to face the wall.

"Oh fucking god…" he murmured, heart heavier than it had been thus far.

April 19th

_Marsh house_

Shelley was currently in her bedroom doing her math homework although it was difficult to concentrate since so much shit had been taking place lately. She of course informed Kyle about the weird e-mail, picture of Stan, and phone call as soon as she could. The police had also been informed although of course there were no leads to any of it yet. Kyle was deeply disturbed when Shelley had forwarded the picture of Stan to him and just like her, hated that there was still no new information they could gather from this incident.

Shelley then saw her phone flash. It was her best friend, Krissa Haming.

Krissa: Did you see the news recently?

Shelley: No, why?

Krissa: Turn it on NOW Shel. It might have to do with your missing brother.

Shelley hurried downstairs and grabbed the remote from her mother's hand. Shelley turned from HGTV to channel 7 news. The scene that flashed on the television was of police and personnel alike gathered around the clearing of some woods. The caption running below the screen was: _Body of child discovered in woods in North Park._

"…we still do not know the identity of the body found but authorities say that it is most likely a male child," spoke a woman to the cameras.

"No…" Shelley's blood ran cold.

The woman then hurried over to an officer standing by the tapped off area.

"Officer Yedly, could you give us an approximate age of the child discovered?"

The aging man sighed as he took off his hat and ran a hand in his hair before putting it back on. "We don't know much yet Suzette. However based on the size of the body we've recovered it looks to be a child aged eight to ten years old."

Shelley could feel her heart beat a frantic pace as she tried not to lose composure. She looked behind her where her mother had been sitting a minute ago to find that she was no longer there.

_Suspense again! Sorry for the late update. Writer's block occurred a couple times, plus I was also coming up with a few more things for future chapters. I was also writing another Stan one-shot for myself and sometimes I have to finish writing one thing before I go back to another, even if said story isn't something I plan on posting any time soon. Hopefully the next chapter gets out sooner 'cause I will be in Colorado myself at the end of September visiting family and won't have any time to post chapters there. The scene with Stan after his failed hockey game from 'Stanley's Cup' was something I wanted to write a one-shot of for a while but I don't know if I can flesh it out enough to do so. So I wrote in a snippet of it for the time being. Okay, done blabbering. Please review, thanks!_

_Lots of love: Rose, August 30, 2019_


	8. In the End it Doesn't Even Matter

**IN THE END IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER**

April 20th

_Ryland House_

Charlene Ryland was a little slow at getting breakfast started that morning. She turned on the coffee pot only to realize she hadn't added any water to it yet. She took out a frying pan and cracked a few eggs over it and began frying them up. She then remembered that she had forgotten to plug in her husband's ipad into the charger last night. He always checked it out for news and such before going off for work or whatever else he had planned for the day. He wasn't going to be happy now…

"Forgot something did we?" spoke a voice behind her a few seconds later.

Charlene gasped and almost dropped the device. "Sorry dear."

"Try not to break my things if you can Char. And to remember to look out for my breakfast if you're going to be cooking it," the man said casually.

Charlene cursed and hurried over to the pan where smoke was now emitting from the burnt eggs. She tossed them out and made up a couple more. Ten minutes later the two sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast quietly. Charlene decided to speak up.

"You are going to therapy today, aren't you Perry?"

Perry Ryland looked up, slightly curious. "Eager to get me out of the house for a while, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm only making sure you follow through with your sessions. You've been so good at keeping up with them so far."

"Then why the question if I'm going in today?"

Charlene sighed. "Never mind."

Perry took a sip from his coffee mug and spoke as he looked down at his charging ipad. "And what are you going to be doing on your day off dear?"

Charlene ate carefully. "I'm not too sure yet. Maybe catch up on some TV. Or clean a bit of the garage, it's really looking like a disaster in there."

Perry gave his wife a hard look now. "And I believe there is one more thing I wanted you to take care of today as well."

Charlene sighed. "Perry…"

"I am almost out of Trimoxotin. Only you can supply me with more my love."

"I can't just go in there and take some. Especially not a trial drug that we don't even know the full side-effects of yet."

Perry gave her a twisted smile as he carefully wiped his upper lip with a napkin. "Well what would you call our little experiment downstairs then?"

Charlene bit her lip and ran a hand in her dark hair. "About that… Perry, isn't this getting a little out-of-hand now? This wasn't even supposed to go on this long. The boy gave you what you asked for didn't he?"

"Hardly. And it is only just beginning Charlene. I need more Trimoxotin to have on hand and I do not want you to pester me as to why."

"But Perry it's unnecessary at this point. If the whole point was to help Stanley remember a particular event, and he did, then why do you still need it? Trimoxotin is intended to be taken in pill form to begin with. Why did you have to transform it into an injection instead?"

Perry said nothing as he went back to his ipad.

"You- you're just torturing him for the fun of it at this point, aren't you?"

"When the boy misbehaves he must be punished Charlene. This was the case from the very beginning. And we both know it is much easier to subdue any person- especially a child, by injecting them rather than forcing a pill down their throat. Wouldn't you agree? In addition, there _is_ a very real reason I am still holding onto the boy. Don't you dare question my intentions. Not when you yourself are every bit a part of it now."

"I have enough information on it now Perry. Please, I don't think we need to keep injecting the boy with it any longer. He already is weakened and scared. If you must punish him I'm sure it will be easy to just give him the pill…"

Perry pointed upstairs. "According to the Best Friend Quiz Stan's best friend, Kyle, took, he is fearful of needles. And since Stan did not mark said question wrong I can only gather that that is in fact true."

Charlene licked her dry lips hastily. "But he's scared. Why must it continue?"

At this point Mr. Ryland slammed his fists on the table, causing his wife to jump.

"It continues because I say it continues. You will not screw this up for me, not now Carlene. You will continue to do your part in this, no more, no less. Just think of the piles of research you will have compiled by the end of it. How many people _you_ could help with this new drug."

Charlene opened her mouth to argue back but then shut it. Perry smiled as he got to his feet.

"Good girl. Now you will do what I have asked of you. And since it is your day off and since you will already be running this errand of mine, I suggest the longer you stay out of the house the better. Now I'm not giving you a time limit, what kind of husband would I be if I did that? But you do know when my sessions with Dr. Julasky are every Saturday. I only hope to see them sometime tonight. I will be stopping by at Dave's house after to discuss the fun activities we have planned for camp tomorrow. Always fun, now knowing the connection one little scout has to our Stanley." The man smiled in a satisfied way. "Well, have a good day dear." He kissed her on the lips before going upstairs to get changed for the day.

_Park County Medical Offices_

2:10 P.M. Mr. Perry Ryland sat opposite an older woman, neither of them saying a word. The only sound to be heard in the room was that of the clock ticking away the seconds until the next minute. Mr. Ryland was tapping his pointer fingers together almost to the rhythm of the clock. Mr. Ryland then sat up straight in his chair.

"You know I've stopped having dreams," he finally spoke.

Dr. Julasky took up her clipboard and wrote something down. "Have you? That is very good to hear Perry."

"The sleeping pills must be helping."

"So you have finally begun taking them?"

Mr. Ryland nodded. "I trust that you say it will help with the recent…things on my mind."

"And is it getting easier to come into work again? Since I am sure this means you are getting adequate sleep now."

Mr. Ryland smiled slightly. "It has gotten easier to come into work now that you mention it. In fact now more than ever seeing the faces of the children puts a smile on my face."

"And can you say the same thing about your consoling position at the day camp? Has it been rewarding partaking in the activities there as well?"

Mr. Ryland took a second to answer. He finally nodded. "Things have been wonderful at the day camp Dr. Julasky. Couldn't be better actually."

"That's good to hear indeed. You seemed a little on edge last week in concerns with the camp. You were upset that we had to meet Friday evening instead of our usual Saturday afternoon. But you mentioned that this Best Friends Day that you were hosting would eat up your entire Saturday. Do you wish to talk about how the event went?"

Mr. Ryland nodded as he spoke with folded hands. "It was a success. The first official Best Friend Day. Honestly? I was a little surprised the synagogue hadn't hosted such an event before during their day camp program. It was so wonderful to see so many kids having fun with their best friend that night. We made sure to get interviews with all the boys that we will then turn into compilation video at the end of spring."

Dr. Julasky nodded and wrote something else down. "Well I am glad it was such a success then. You even told me there was a prize to give away to a pair of friends. What was the prize?"

At this Mr. Ryland frowned slightly. "Tickets to the World Candy Convention in Denver. A couple boys scooped the prize after proving how well they knew each other. Although… (_sigh_) I think we graded rather hastily. One little boy there was adamant that he knew his best friend better than anyone. But his best friend couldn't attend the fun last week; he had been taken ill the day before. But said boy, I'll call Kim, filled out the Best Friend quiz anyway. He gave it to his sick friend to grade and turns out the pair of them actually received a near-perfect score. But I am not going to take away the prize from the boys that did win it. That wouldn't be fair."

Dr. Julasky was scratching away at her clipboard. She looked up a few seconds later, pushing a strand of greying black hair behind her ear. "You seem to have put a lot of thought into this Best Friend event. May I ask why?"

Mr. Ryland shrugged one shoulder. "I simply think it's a good idea to introduce some new faces to the Jewish faith. Plus nothing gets boys more excited than friendly competition and rough-housing, am I right?"

Dr. Julasky sighed and put her clipboard down over her knees to look at her patient closer. "Did you have a best friend growing up Perry?"

Mr. Ryland took his time answering again. "Truthfully it is something lacking from the majority of my childhood. I did keep to myself often. I simply didn't feel the need to get that close with someone."

Dr. Julasky nodded. "Understandable after what you have been through. Do you want to elaborate perhaps as to why you didn't form a strong bond to another child when growing up? Or maybe even a trusted adult?"

A deep frown formed on Mr. Ryland's forehead now. "No, I do feel it is necessary to talk about silly things such as friendship or trusted adults."

Dr. Julasky sighed and moved her glasses up her nose. "Perry, I feel it is important we get to the root of how you are feeling currently. There is a reason you invested so much time in an event when you say you don't care about such things in your own life. The effects your little brother's kidnapping when you were young must have set off a chain of events since that"-

"Don't you _dare_ bring that up now," Mr. Ryland shouted.

Dr. Julasky didn't flinch at the man's outburst. "It is okay to feel upset, even angry about it Perry. You told me a few weeks ago you would place that as the darkest moment in your life. And it indeed must have been very hard for you. For your parents."

At this Mr. Ryland scoffed. "You don't know a single thing about that day. About anything concerning Toby. How dare you sit there and presume anything?"

Dr, Julasky wrote something down again and looked over to the man. "I was wondering if you saw the evening news yesterday Perry."

Mr. Ryland was not looking at her, instead off to the side, hands up near his mouth as before.

"A child's body was discovered in nearby North Park. Police do not yet know the identity of the child but they can confirm that it is that of a little boy. A family out there will soon be getting news that their missing child has been located. It is unknown how long the body has been in the woods but someone will get closure soon. How does that make you feel?"

Mr. Ryland did not say anything for the next five minutes. He moved his hands from his lips again. "They never did find Toby," he said in a subtle tone.

Dr. Julasky looked concerned. "I did not know that. I'm so sorry Perry." Silence followed a few minutes after. "Would you assume the child's body that was discovered would be that of your little brother?"

Mr. Ryland rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "No. Toby was not in the age range the authorities placed this new missing child at."

_Same day_

_Ryland house_

Charlene had just gotten back home from her run to her workplace to pick up a few supplies before returning home. She really did not want to partake in this independent study her husband was fronting anymore but he had a point; she was too deep into it by now to simply walk out. She admitted that she was curious about the side-effects of the new drug Trimoxotin and if it indeed did a good job aiding children into restful sleep. It was to give them a boost of new neurons in the brain so they would wake feeling confident, calm, and focused. It was to be hailed as the new miracle drug for children with ADHD, depression, and other mental health issues. Unfortunately it appeared the opposite was happening in her unwilling participate. There was the theory that since young Stanley Marsh was being injected with it instead of swallowing a pill that it was not taking effect as it should. It's not as if he were being given it daily so perhaps it wasn't working the way it should because of this as well. Whatever the reason Charlene wanted to figure it out herself.

It was past 2:30. Her husband still had a half hour left at his therapy session, and then he would be off to his friend's house after. She did have the house to herself for a little while. She did indeed turn on the TV to catch up on what was on the DVR. The house was quiet as usual although she did have a sick burning in her gut as she watched the screen. She got up to fix herself some popcorn but couldn't force herself to heat up the bag once she placed it in the microwave. She checked her phone. Biting her lip, she decided to take the plunge and made her way to the door down to the basement. She waked down the enclosed staircase and unlocked the few latches on the door at the base. She stepped inside and made her way towards the little boy lying in the small metal-framed bed.

Stan made no notion he had heard her. He had, but so what? He was on his back, staring up into the bright hanging light above him. A light that never turned off since Mr. Ryland flicked it on. When was it? Yesterday? A week ago? Month ago?

"Stan?" Charlene asked softly, kneeling near him. He slowly moved his eyes her way before looking back up. "How are you feeling today?"

Stan said nothing, just gave a deep shuddering sigh.

"I'm not technically supposed to be down here right now. Only when Perry permits, and that's just after he has given you, well, the shot. I wanted to see how you were doing today."

Stan drew in a rattled breath again. "…doesn't…matter…"

"It- it does matter dear. I would like to know, make sure that you are still hanging in there."

Stan bit his lip as he spoke to the bright light above. "Hurts. Everything. I- I can no longer…get up. I can't move. Can't…'member when I last peed. There's this- weird slimy feel on my teeth. My whole body. I dunno if…my ankle's broken 'cuz the chain. I can't do anything. I'm stuck. Stuck..."

Charlene glanced up before looking at the boy again. "I know I shouldn't but I could give you a little something to eat. I'm sure it's been a while since my husband has given you something."

Stan didn't say anything for a minute. Charlene took this as a sign that he did want food so she got to her feet to go back up the stairs. However she was stopped in her tracks when she heard Stan speak in an utterly mournful voice behind her.

"I'm gonna die here aren't I?"

"What?" Charlene turned around and walked to his side again.

Stan let out a sob. "I'm gonna die here…aren't I? It's okay, you can tell me."

Charlene opened her mouth, surprised at this statement. "Stanley…. Don't say things like that. You aren't going to die here."

Stan sniffed. "I am. I'm too far gone. I can't get up. I'm not even…hungry anymore. I'm past that point. I can't sit up, can't walk. (_Sniff_) It hurts too much. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die and- and the worst part is- I'll never- never get to see my family or friends again."

"Stanley…"

"I'm s-scared. I don't wanna be here anymore. I wanna go home. I wanna go _home_. I don't wanna die here. Please don't let him kill me. I don't want to d-die. I'm o-only ten. I'm sc-scared. I- I just w-want my m-mommy. (_Sniff_) I just w-want my moooomm …" If Stan had any actual tears to produce he knew he'd be a blubbering mess right now. His body shook with sobs but no actual tears welled in his eyes or snot drip from his nose since he was so dehydrated. This was it. He was past the point of caring how pathetic he looked or sounded for he knew he had reached that moment as of now. The point where nothing really mattered for he knew this was the end. He had gotten himself into countless crazy and dangerous situations but this was what was going to be the thing that killed him. Kidnapping by some crazy man and withering away in a basement. Stan tried so hard not to fall to pieces for the past couple weeks, tried to hold it off with every fiber of his being, but when he realized that morning that he couldn't even sit up on his own anymore, he knew he was past the point of no return.

Charlene stood there with tears in her own eyes. She never expected the child to fall apart like this. Of course, she never expected things to go on for as long as they had either. She ran a hand in her hair, knowing each minute that went by that she was still down here with him was risking it. But she couldn't just walk away now that she saw the boy crumble completely. Charlene bent down and put a hand on his thin shoulder.

"Shhh, it's okay honey. You're going to be okay…"

Stan didn't hear her as he still cried loudly without tears.

"I'll make sure he doesn't kill you. That's not in his plans. I'm not too sure what his ultimate goal is but I know he didn't bring you down here to have you die. I'll do what I can to make sure you get home to your parents, okay? But you have to calm down for me until that happens," Charlene tried comforting him which was a little awkward. She wasn't a mother nor spent too much time with children.

Stan's body still shook as he cried. His chest was hurting, his lungs burning as he tried to calm himself down.

"Stan- Stanley, I'll go upstairs and sneak something for you to eat, okay? But I have to be quick before Perry returns home."

Stan coughed, still trying to catch his breath. Great, just what he didn't need right now, to not be able to breathe. He hadn't had an asthma scare since he came down here. Of course with the lack of activity and exposure to allergens he had been able to breathe without struggle so far. But he was so consumed with emotion now and so weak his lungs were finally triggered. Charlene went to her feet again and was about to leave when he called her back.

"P-please, do- do you know where he- he's keeping my stuff?" Stan choked out.

"Excuse me?"

"My stuff. When I f-first got here I had my cell phone and b-backpack. He showed me my phone a couple t-times now. My backpack must-must be here too," Stan struggled.

Charlene sighed. "Yes, I do know where"-

"Get it. Front p-pocket. My inhaler. Please."

Charlene didn't say anything but left quickly. Again, did it really matter if she would be able to find his inhaler? That is, if Mr. Ryland hadn't tossed it out already? He knew he was going to die here anyway. But perhaps to hold off death for a little while longer… The wait for Charlene seemed to last for two hours. He coughed and tried clearing his lungs but it was no use. He then felt a tickle near his left foot. He glanced down to see Lupin the mouse had made his appearance present again. The critter crawled up onto his chest, sniffing about.

"H-hey little-guy… you- you picked a bad time to-to see me. I'm prob-probably dying…" Dying from a lack of air, food, and water. Definitely not a good mix. Lupin's head shot up when the door opened five minutes later. Charlene was back. She quickly pulled Stan up in a sitting position.

"Can you do it yourself?" she asked him as she handed over his Ventolin.

"N-no…" Stan weakly instructed the woman to first shake the canister before uncapping it. He then told her to press down on the one end at the same time he drew in a breath. He felt like an incompetent idiot, being unable to hold his inhaler himself now. The first press made Stan gag as she pressed too early- causing him to taste the awful metallic taste on his tongue of the mist. Thankfully the second try was a success. He had her press down once more for good measure before she set it aside.

"I brought you something to eat. I hope it's okay…" she presented a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as well as a glass of water.

Stan bit his lip; sure he would have loved seeing such a thing a week ago but that's when he still had some strength and hope left in him that he'd get out of here. What was one sandwich and cup of water going to do now? Probably make him throw up. But she propped him up on the wall so he could sit and eat. Suddenly the head of Lupin the mouse popped up from under Stan's sheet. Charlene looked surprised.

"He's my friend," Stan rasped.

Charlene nodded and tore off a tiny piece of bread and held it out. Lupin cautiously sniffed around before taking the crust and hurrying back to Stan's side. Both woman and boy smiled slightly. Charlene handed over the sandwich to the boy now.

"I'm sorry but I can't stay for long Stan. Perry might return home any moment. Do you think you'll be able to manage yourself?"

Stan drew in a shaky breath. "I'll try. T-thanks." He bent his body down to the sandwich since it was too much effort for him to hold the food in front of his mouth. He took a small bite, slowly chewing on the left side since it was easier. Again, his teeth weren't hurting yet but it was only a matter of time. He had been able to pick at them when he first got here but now there was no way he could use a finger to clean them. There seemed to be slightly more build-up on the right side that he simply couldn't pick away at any longer. Stan grunted as he drew the water bottle to his lips and sighed when he spilled down his front. He tried a second time and spilled again when the sound of the basement door slamming open caused him to drop it. He looked up to see Mr. Ryland storming down, hand gripping the arm of his wife Charlene, the usual bag in his other hand. Stan felt his blood run cold- this wasn't good.

"You know sometimes I do wonder how you ever became a psychiatrist when you go about and do something like this," Mr. Ryland snapped at Charlene. He let go of her in disgust and she stepped back, rubbing her arm. "Did you forget that I have access to the goings-on in the room at all time?" He pointed out the video camera mounted to the wall.

_Fuck_, Stan swore in his head.

"Of course I would have known it was you no matter what," Mr. Ryland said casually. "There is no way our little experiment here would have been able to go upstairs and make himself a snack whilst dragging a chain behind him now would he?"

"Perry, please, you're right. I was so stupid. Please forgive me," Charlene folded her hands up almost as if in a prayer.

"I trusted you too. I thought you knew the importance of this. But you decided to throw it all away by giving the boy a sandwich. Such a shame. A true shame."

"Perry, let me continue what I was doing. I- I want to know the effects of Trimoxotin. Please, I will follow your rules. Let me continue what I was doing, please," Charlene pleaded.

"You cannot be trusted. I should have foreseen this long ago. This may alter things but nonetheless, my plans will prevail." Mr. Ryland then crossed his arms at Stan. The boy didn't even look up, staring at the man's shoes. "And you Stan, allowing this to happen. I do hope your sandwich and water tasted good. That you savored every little morsel of food and drink."

Stan glanced to the sandwich towards his right where all but two bites were taken from.

"The polite thing to do for your captor is to follow his simple rules," Mr. Ryland continued. "You knew it would be a risk to allow my lovely wife over there to give you even the smallest amount of attention and food. Well the only good that can come from this is to punish you both. Charlene, I believe Stan here is in need of some, ahhh, sleep aid."

Charlene looked reluctant. "Perry, if you just"-

"You know you are the only one that can properly do it. I am but a simple math teacher. You have prepared the drug each time before this, why the hesitation now?"

Charlene placed a strand of her thin hair behind her ear but didn't answer.

"Is it perhaps the fact that you don't actually _want_ to witness the drug take effect? You have no troubles preparing the injection upstairs but to do it in front of the boy is in any way different?"

"Perry…"

"Don't tell me you have come to feel sympathy for the boy? Well let me put it this way dear, you have no choice in the matter. If you do not prepare the drug for me then things will be far worse for the both of you if you disobey. Understood?" Mr. Ryland spoke in a firm but calm matter.

Charlene nervously rubbed her hands together before nodding and went into the bag to retrieve what was needed for the drug. Mr. Ryland pushed her closer to face Stan the whole while. Stan was hunched over and looking to the floor again. Mr. Ryland forced his head up- gripping his dirty hair to watch as Charlene went through the steps to prepare the injection. Stan tried to look away but couldn't. He closed his eyes but the man forced him to look again. Stan watched as Charlene uncapped a new needle and drew from a tiny vial the drug. She then discarded the needle for a new one and Stan inwardly shuddered as she tapped it. He always hated when doctors or nurses did that… this was all to torture him even more and somehow this horrible man knew the triggers for his fears. Did any of it really matter at this point? He was probably going to die within a day anyway. After Charlene checked to make sure there were no air bubbles in the syringe, she took a step towards him as Mr. Ryland lifted the sleeve up on his left side where a purple bruise now sat. Stan winced as he felt the needle once again pierce his skin. His head slumped down seconds later as he was once again forced to sleep.

Charlene looked over at her husband helplessly.

"Perry…"

"Your involvement of the experiment is now over," Mr. Ryland spoke, getting to his feet as he pushed Stan's still form on his back carelessly.

April 21st

_Marsh house_

Once again the scene at the Marsh residence was chaotic. As soon as the news hit that the body of a boy was discovered in a nearby town police swarmed by the house again as well as news reporters. It took some time for Shelley to calm her mother down after she found her outside sobbing. Shelley had to do the same thing again once her father found out too. No other details had been released of the body discovered since then and to say it was pissing Kyle off was an understatement. Once he had seen the news as well he had called Shelley who again, had to do her part in cooling him off after he had ranted off to her for fifteen minutes over the phone. Currently he was sitting down on the couch at the Marsh house while investigators talked with the family.

"We really don't know anything else, we've told you everything," Shelley was telling an officer.

"Would your brother have had any reason to be out in North Park?"

"No. we don't know anyone who lives there."

At that moment there was a tap at the front door. One of the officers went to open it. Another man in uniform stepped inside and began talking in whispered tones with the man that had invited him in. they two looked somber as they nodded a few times.

"I understand. Go ahead then," said the first man and stepped aside to allow the new officer to take over. He went to Sharon and Randy who were sitting down at the dining room table, both exhausted and holding onto tissues.

"Mr. and Mrs. Marsh. I am Officer McGinnley. I have just received word from the Park County Medical Offices."

Shelley and Kyle's heads shot up at these words.

"Is- is- who"- Kyle couldn't quite get the right words out.

Officer McGinnley sighed as he took off his hat to scratch at his hair before placing it back on. "That's the trouble we are having at the moment son. They still do not have a positive identity of the body found in the woods two days ago. You see, there is a high chance that it could be that of Anthony Levert. He is a nine-year-old boy that went missing two years ago from Middle Creek. His body has yet to be discovered."

Kyle's lips went dry and he shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. "So- so that means it might _not_ be Stan."

Officer McGinnley sighed. "Perhaps, but there is still a chance"-

"No! You just said so yourself it's not him!"

"Kyle, not again…" Shelley sighed.

"No! I demand you just tell us what the fuck you do know!" Kyle raged. "You're fucking tearing apart this family! My own fucking brain! It shouldn't be that fucking difficult to tell whether or not this kid is Stan! Check for scars! He has one right here"- Kyle made a dash across the left side of his hairline. "He was just shot months ago too. He has a scar on his right arm too! What's the height on the body found? What about fingerprints, huh? Check fucking dental records! Isn't that always the first step anyway? I fucking know the name of Stan's dentist. Also"-

"Kyle please, calm down," Shelley spoke, throat tight as she gripped the boy's shoulder.

"Shelley, they're not doing the first steps when it comes to discovered bodies! The hell I'm going to calm down until I know without a doubt if that body in the morgue right now is Stan."

Shelley glanced over at her parents. Both seemed too out of it to realize what the officer was saying.

Officer McGinnley blinked before clearing his throat again. "As I was saying… since there is still no positive I.D. on this body and the decomposition has rendered certain physical attributes… I must ask if one of you would mind accompanying myself down to the morgue to possible make that identification."

Kyle's eyes widened and he slowly sank into the couch again. "Oh god… oh god…"

"S-someone has to- to see if… if that's our boy?" Randy finally choked out, becoming slightly more aware of what was being said.

The tall blond man nodded once.

Randy gripped his wife's hand as new tears spilled from both their eyes. "I- I d-don't know if-if"-

Shelley sighed and stood next to the officer. "I'll do it."

"Shelley, don't- don't be silly," Randy sniffed.

"Why can't I?" Kyle demanded as he frantically wiped at his wet eyes.

"It is preferably something we want only a family member to do," Officer McGinnley stated.

"I'll do it. I don't mind. I mean, I think I'm the only one who could… handle it," Shelley said uncomfortably, rubbing her arm.

No words were spoken for the next minute. Everyone took this as a sign that Shelley would be the one to identify whether or not the body of the boy that was at the morgue was that of her little brother. She went to grab her phone from her bedroom before going back down. Her eyes were stinging already. She got one last look at her parents, both crying again and at Kyle who was sniffing loudly, eyes filled with tears but trying to not let them fall. He gave a slight nod to her and she nodded back before allowing Officer McGinnley to show her out and into his cruiser to drive down to the Park County Medical Offices.

April 21st

_Ryland house_

Something was tickling his neck. Suddenly he felt tickling on his cheek. Stan cracked an eye open to see Lupin the mouse sniffing about his face. He sighed. He was still alive although he didn't know how at this point or even if he wanted to be. Sure the right thing to do was to not give up hope in a situation like this but he was so weak and tired and in pain that to continue on for another day seemed pretty pointless. All he could do at this point was try to think about his loved ones every time he fell asleep, that way they would be the very last images in his mind should he discover he had died in his sleep. Suddenly the sound of the basement door opening was heard and Lupin the mouse scurried away under the cot. Stan didn't look over to see his captor when he entered.

"I have something I need for you to do for me, and yourself, today Stan," Mr. Ryland's voice spoke above him. Stan of course didn't reply back. He heard the sound of a chair scraping across the small table nearby before the man reappeared. He bent down to unlock the heavy chain on his left ankle before lifting his frail body over to the table.

"What...what is…?" Stan whispered at the pencil and paper on the table.

"It has come to my attention the next phase of my plan is to begin. You are to write another little note to your parents Stan."

Stan looked gloomily at the sharpened pencil next to the white paper. He didn't think he even had the strength to lift it, much less make any marks with it.

"Don't worry about your weakened state," Mr. Ryland said as if reading his mind. "We will sit here for however long it takes for you to complete the task." He then placed the pencil in the boy's hand.

"I- I don't"-

"'Dear Mom and Dad,'" Mr. Ryland began.

Stan bit his lip hard as he used all his effort into gripping the writing device to begin writing. It took over a minute to write that first introduction on the paper and it looked more like how his handwriting did in first grade but Mr. Ryland pressed on, and with each word that Stan managed to write the worse he felt for surely these words that he was writing were that of a final good-bye to his parents and his time trapped in this basement had finally run its course.

_Sorry for the depressing chapter. I myself have been feeling pretty depressed yet again the past couple weeks so I guess it came out in my writing. While coming up with a title for this chapter the song 'In The End' by Linkin Park came to mind and I guess that song is fitting for it. I try to come up with original titles but sometimes song titles come to mind instead for stories and such. What did everyone think of the new South Park? I hope Randy gives up his Tegridy Farm thing by next week. Anyway, please do leave a review. It makes my day, trust me. I have also done a big overall update on the Getting to Know Me quizzes for each character so check that out too. Thanks._

_Lots of love: Rose, September 27, 2019_


	9. Riddles and Clues

**RIDDLES AND CLUES**

April 22nd

Randy had to practically force himself to go into work that Monday morning. At this point his wife was too out of it to go- she hadn't in weeks. He was hurting just as much as she was; it was his son that had been missing all this time as well. But Sharon could get away with choosing to stay home because she was the mother and surely no one would be hurting over something like this more than a mother? Randy felt that was a load of crap yet he knew he wouldn't win any arguments if he put his foot down and said he was going to 'wait up' for their son to walk in the door. Someone had to pay for the bills around here, might as well be him.

As Randy took up a spot at his desk that morning he tried to tell himself that things were looking slightly up. His daughter had gone down to the Park County Medical Offices yesterday to see if she could make a positive identify on the body of a male child found days ago in the woods. Shelley knew immediately looking at the body that it was not her brother even though the body was decayed and many notable features were exaggerated. Her brother's face was rounder than the decayed face staring back at her. Plus that hair was shorter than Stan ever had his cut before. With this news Randy was elated to find out that there was a possibility his son was still alive somewhere. Shelley reminded him that he was after that weird e-mail and phone call he received last Thursday as well. With that thought in mind, Randy was able to head into work, with as much hope as one could have at a time like this.

5:30 P.M. Randy was getting ready to wrap up the day and head home when suddenly he received a text message. He knew who it was since he had saved this person's mystery name in his contacts list.

One4one: You will be receiving an e-mail shortly. Read very carefully and follow the directions.

Furious, Randy typed back: Who the fuck are you? How did you get my number?

One4one: Check your e-mail.

"Something up?" Nelson asked, coming around the corner and seeing the anger written all over his friend's face.

"This- this one4one person said he just sent me an e-mail!"

"Well go check it out. It has to be in regards to your son, right? You have to see it."

Randy sat back down and groaned as he rubbed itching eyes. "I- I don't know how much more of this I can stand. I'm losing it Nelson. I just want answers but everything I get just leads to more dead ends. I don't know what to do."

Nelson took a sip from his mug. "I suggest the best thing to do is go along and see your e-mail Randy. There might be something in it that could help you find your son."

Randy sighed, rubbed his eyes yet again, and nodded. He clicked open his e-mail on his desk top to indeed see a new message.

From: One4One14

Title: For Your Eyes Only Randy Marsh

"Well? What is it?" Nelson asked, peering over.

"I- I don't really know. Just a sec…"

Apprehensive, Randy opened the e-mail.

_Hello Randy Marsh. I have sent you the next phase of my experiment. This involves you and only you. You are not to show this e-mail to anyone. Trust in me when I tell you that I will know if you have gone against this rule. Below is a series of questions devised to see how well you know your son. Your instructions are very simple; answer as many correctly as you can and your son survives. Answer a set amount incorrectly then it is game over. You are to answer every question right now in your office cubical. You are not to ask for any help or assistance from anyone, especially your wife. I have specific instructions being sent her way too. You have until 8 P.M. to complete your task. You do not want to know what will happen if you fail to reply with your answers. Good luck, your son is counting on you._

Randy got to his feet again, pacing the floor.

"Randy, what is it?" co-worker Marty asked now, coming forward.

"Oh shit…oh shit oh shit oh shit…"

"Randy, calm down man. What did the e-mail say?" Nelson asked.

Randy only shook his head as he poured himself some coffee with jittery hands. "I- I have to stay late you guys. I can't- I just need to stay."

"Randy, do you really think"-

"I have to stay my son is counting on it!" Randy snapped. He then spotted his cell and handed it over to Nelson. "Take this. I can't be tempted. Hold onto it until eight. If my wife or daughter call, tell them I have no choice, I have to stay late tonight."

Confused, Nelson nodded and took up the cell phone.

Randy took in a sip from his coffee and with baited breath, scrolled down the e-mail.

ULTIMATE FATHER QUIZ!

_How well do you know your son?_

"Oh damn," Randy bit his lip as he continued to read. Read questions pertaining to his son. Of course he knew Stan's full name and birthday… he was fairly sure he knew what time he was born…it was either 5 or 7 in the morning…his favorite color was obvious but when the hell did his first tooth come in? Who the hell remembered that? What did he want to be when he was five? What did he want to be now? This was all so ridiculous, the very idea that he had to somehow prove he knew his son to some stranger, what the hell was up with that? And the e-mail didn't state how many questions he was allowed to get wrong in all fifty- plus the three bonus questions. And who would be determining if he got the questions right? Did this stranger know Stan in some creepy detailed way? How would anyone out there know the answers to these questions anyway besides Stan himself? Randy glanced at the clock on his computer- it was now 5:51 P.M. Nervously, he prowled on to answer as quickly and accurately as he could.

April 23rd

It was around noon and Sharon was currently doing a lot of nothing, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV screen as Property Brothers played, yet not taking in anything from the flashing screen. She had tried telling herself things would be okay, her son was alive and would return home since Shelley had told her and Randy that the boy at the morgue was not Stanley. He was alive, he had to be. Not to mention the fact that Randy had returned home late last night to confirm this. He didn't specify anything; he only told her and Shelley that this One4One person had contacted him again. He couldn't disclose anything else, only that 'Stan is alive. Based off…things. He's alive." But of course her baby boy being alive was only part of it. Sharon still had no idea where he was and who was holding him captive, nor what the person wanted from him. He was alive yes, but by how much? Was he being well cared for, given meals, hot showers, and a warm bed to sleep in at night? Or was he being tortured and abused in some way, on the brink of death? Sharon thought back on the image One4One had shared in her husband's e-mail last week of what appeared to be Stan chained to a bed. It was sickening to see and made Sharon feel worse. There was no way this captor was taking care of her son. She didn't know how much longer she could go without knowing more.

Right now Sharon decided to get to her feet to fix up something to eat for herself, although it seemed pointless. Maybe her son hadn't eaten in days… how could she eat if Stan may be starving? Sharon set aside her bowl of instant ramen after a few bites, rubbing her eyes. She then jumped when her phone rang. She frowned, not recognizing who it might be. The location was listed as 'unknown'. Sharon didn't know if she should answer, usually her daughter, husband, Kyle, or a police officer was around to tell her what to do. She was home alone now and had to make that decision. She hesitantly answered the call.

"H-hello?"

"Good afternoon Mrs. Marsh," spoke a cool male voice on the other end.

"Is this- who is this?"

"I don't have much time at the moment Mrs. Marsh. I must ask you a question- do you know your son well?"

"Ex-excuse me?" Sharon coughed.

"Do you think you know your son well Mrs. Marsh?"

Sharon frowned as she got to her feet and walked out of the kitchen. "Of course I do, he's my son. How dare you assume that-"

"I have sent you an e-mail Mrs. Marsh. It is for your eyes only. Instructions are specified when you open it. Have a good day."

"Wait- I have to know how my baby is- wait- don't hang up," Sharon pleaded but the sound of the phone hanging up was heard on the other side. Tears burned her eyes but Sharon slowly went upstairs and sat at the desk in the bedroom where her laptop sat. She went to open her e-mail. There was indeed something in there from One4One with the title of the e-mail reading: For your eyes only Sharon Marsh.

_Below is a fun questionnaire your husband recently filled out about your son. Your instructions are simple: go over his answers and correct any question he may have gotten wrong. Do not show this e-mail to anyone else. I will know if you do. You have until 4 P.M. to correct any questions and e-mail the results back to me. I wish you luck Mrs. Marsh, One4One14._

_ULTIMATE FATHER QUIZ!_

_How well do you know your son?_

Sharon scrolled down to see fifty questions- plus three bonus ones, all about their son. It appeared as if Randy had already filled out each one. Now it was her turn to see how well he did. Sharon felt she knew her son enough to know if her husband didn't answer a question correctly. Although she did wonder and worry a little what any of this had to do with anything. What would happen if Randy got even one wrong? Hopefully Stanley wouldn't be the one to pay the price. But she didn't want to lie and say every answer was correct if she knew for a fact what the correct answer was. This was Randy. He wasn't terrible but really… it wasn't as if he paid attention to all the smaller details that went into parenting. But since she was the mother Sharon felt the answers were all riding on her shoulders. And so she began to go down them, typing in the correct answer next to each wrong one that she spotted.

1) Your son's full name: Stanley Quintin Marsh

2) Your son's birthdate: 10/19/08

3) What time was your son born?: 5:17 A.M./ 7:10 A.M.

4) How much did he weigh?: 6.10 lbs

5) How did you come up with his name?: I didn't, my wife did

6) Was he born on time?: No, 3 weeks early

7) In months, when did he start walking: 12 M/13 M Talking: 12 M/11 M

8) One word to describe him as a baby: fussy

9) When did his first tooth come in?: 12 M/ 9 M

10) Your son's favorite color: blue

11) Your son's favorite toy as a young child: stuffed dog Ruffy

12) Your son's best friend: Kyle Broflovski

13) Your son's favorite ice cream flavor: cookies n' cream

14) Your son's favorite school subject: reading least: math

15) What is your son afraid of?: Hospitals and snakes

16) Something your son inherited from his mother: eyes

17) Something your son inherited from you: hair

18) Is he in any after-school activities?: Football and baseball/ football, baseball, soccer, karate

19) Name of son's pediatrician: Dr. Davies

20) Name of son's dentist: Dr. Steels

21) How many scars does your son have?: 1/ 3

22) Has he ever broken a bone?: No/yes

23) Your son's favorite home-cooked meal: meatloaf/cheesy chicken spaghetti

24) What are your son's interests/hobbies: Football and animals

25) Did your son have any bad habits as a young child?: No/yes, thumb sucking

26) Who does your son go to for homework help, you or Mom?: Mom

27) Your son's favorite teacher he's had so far: Mrs. Smith/ Mrs. Burgman, kindergarten

28) How many baby teeth does your son still have: 5/8

29) When is his bedtime: 9 PM

30) Who is your son closer to, you or his mother: It's pretty equal honestly

31) Something that was difficult for him to learn when he was younger: potty training

32) Name of son's first crush: Wendy

33) Does your son prefer packed lunch or school lunch: school/both

34) Something your son hates about his mother: Nagging/ she worries too much

35) Something your son hates about you: I drink

36) Who is your son's hero: John Elway

37) Your son's favorite bedtime story: Cat in the Hat/ The Bubblegum Prince in the Land of Chocolate

38) When he was five, what did your son want to be when he grew up: police officer

39) What does your son want to be when he grows up now: Pro football star/ unknown, but it is not this

40) His favorite birthday or Christmas gift from you: Broncos helmet for Christmas, he was 8/ his cat Basha, Christmas age 10

41) Your son's favorite family vacation: Grand Canyon, age 8/ California during summer, age 8

42) Name a quirk your son has: pinches bridge of nose when frustrated

43) What's your son's blood type?: A/B+

44) Outside of family or friends, who is your son close to: Frank/ who is Frank?

45) Something your son wants to learn how to do: learn guitar

46) What is your son/s favorite and least favorite chore: feeding pets, taking out trash/ least favorite is cleaning his room

47) If your son is up past his bedtime, what is he most likely doing?: On his phone

48) When was the longest time he's been grounded: 2 months after coming home drunk

49) What toy is at the top of your son's wish list: Nerf gun/ App-controlled Lego Batmobile

50) Why are you the best father for your son: He's my son I love him

BONUS

1) What is your son's shoe size: 5/4

2) What was your son's very first school performance: Christmas show, age 5/ 'Fall is Fun' preschool, age 3 ½

3) What got him to fall asleep as a baby? How about now? Baby-rocking/ cradling now-his phone

It didn't take Sharon too long to answer these questions herself, although reading some of the answer had her angry. How could Randy be so stupid and write in what he did? How could he not know what Stanley's blood type was?! They tested his blood when he was minutes old like any other newborn! If Randy had simply paid attention to their son throughout the years he would have known the answers to these questions. Often the answers came up in homework assignments or projects in class or simple every-day conversation. Sharon could remember such a conversation taking place just last year…

"_You look troubled Stan. What do you have to do?" Sharon asked him one evening as he sat at the dining room table, pencil and paper out._

"_I have to write an essay about what I want to be when I grow up. Trouble is, I don't really know what that is."_

_Randy had walked in and took up a seat next to his son. "Well that's easy son, write about how much you want to be a professional football player!"_

_Stan frowned, tapping pencil to his lip. "I dunno Dad, I don't feel like I could go all the way. You know?"_

"_Sure you can. You're pretty good already. No doubt you'll go on to become the star on the football team in high school. From there some college will see you play and grant you a scholarship. Next thing you know, you're playing for the Denver Broncos!" Randy spoke enthusiastically._

_Stan rolled his eyes. "Like I said, I don't know. Yeah I love football but it's a lot of pressure to do it professionally. I kind of want"-_

"_Nonsense. My son will be playing long into college! You have it in you Stan, you really do."_

"_I don't want to grow up to be some dumb jock Dad!" Stan had argued._

"_This is coming from the biggest football fan I know! Ha! You will go on to play football up until you sustain fucking head trauma or tear a ligament or something. And even then you will continue because professionals get injured all the time. No way is my only son _not_ going to play football in high school."_

"_I'm only nine Dad! I'm not thinking that far ahead!"_

Sharon never did find out what their son had written for his essay but clearly dreams of football stardom weren't in his future. Whatever it was he had written about he had gotten an A- on the paper so that's all that mattered. Sharon didn't hear Shelley step into the house after school and Shelley didn't bother greeting her mother anyway since she had been so hard to talk to lately. Only during dinner did Sharon finally decide to break the ice.

"He contacted me today," she uttered over the Chinese take-out Randy had picked up for dinner.

Randy and Shelley both looked at her, confused.

"Who did?" Randy carefully asked.

"Our son's captor. I didn't want to say. He called and then he e-mailed me"-

"Wait, he called _and_ e-mailed you? What the hell Mom?" Shelley slammed her hand on the table.

Sharon shook her head and put her face in her hands. "I don't know if it means anything. It's just like that weird e-mail you got yesterday Randy. He- he doesn't want anyone to know what it's about."

"Fuck it. He said he'd know if we discussed anything about anything. What if- what if Stan"-

"But he has to be alive, there's no way he's dead, not now," Shelley interrupted.

"Shelley, at this point"-

"C'mon you guys, I know it's bad but there are kids that have been missing for months. Years. Yet they return home safely in the end. Stan's not dead. I don't know how but he's still hanging in there. I don't know… what condition he's in, what this evil man is doing to him, but he's still out there. It's Stan. He won't back down. He's stronger than any other ten-year-old out there. He's not going to let this One4One guy win," Shelley spoke in a sincere way, however much it was killing her to do so.

"Shelley, some-sometimes that's not enough. He is only a kid after all. You don't know what this man is doing to him. You saw that picture last week. Stan's in bad shape no matter how you look at it," Randy choked out.

Shelley frowned, picking at her orange chicken. "We have to tell the police that this guy contacted Mom. We can't keep playing by his rules. Someone is going to let slip something important soon. We will find out who this monster is. We will get Stan home. I'll call Kyle too. See what he thinks we should do next." Shelley sighed deeply at the forlorn expressions on her parents' faces. "Stan will come home. Battered, scarred, but home."

Randy nodded. "Thanks Shelley. I- I think I'm done here. Gotta go out to think for a minute…" he got up, grabbed a beer, and went out to the back.

Shelley really did hate showing her vulnerable side to others, she really did. She tried for so long to pretend not to care about her missing brother but there was no denying now that Stan needed them now more than ever. That picture that was sent to her dad last week of him chained to a bed shook her to her core. Someone out there was making her brother suffer. It was her job and her job only. Maybe she simply had been spending too much time with Kyle lately; compassion was starting to rub off on her. Whatever it was, Shelley had to keep the faith Stan would indeed return home. Yes mother's intuition was a thing but maybe so was sibling intuition. Maybe Shelley had something ingrained in her that allowed her to sense if her younger sibling was alive or not. Well right now Stan certainly felt alive in her and until that feeling faded, she would continue to try and lift the morale of her parents so they too could hopefully see that Stan was indeed still alive.

April 24th

Stan was still alive and he didn't know why. He cursed to himself every time he awoke to find the bright light above shining down on him. He half hoped said bright light he would awake to would be that of Heaven beckoning him on… but no. It was the same dark and dank basement he had been trapped in for weeks. He was starting to feel angry now. Why the hell was God or whoever keeping him alive still? What was the point of waking up to suffer another day and do it again and again and again? He deserved some relief. Some freedom from the pain, sweat, stink, filth, hunger, and dehydration he was enduring. Surely. As each day passed Mr. Ryland would come down and offer him a few sips of water. Why the hell was this evil man keeping him alive? What was the point? Again, Stan could recall the crime shows he had seen and how if the perpetrator really wanted him dead he would be by now. Him being alive was still vital to whatever plans Mr. Ryland had. In some ways Stan wished he would torment him again with such things like forced math lessons or vague answers to questions he pulled from a hat. But those 'fun and games' were over now. Now it was simply a game of waiting. Waiting to see who would give up first. Mr. Ryland or him.

Night had fallen. The sound of the basement door creaking open was heard. Mr. Ryland had stepped in, laptop in hand.

"How are we this evening Stan?"

Stan of course did not answer.

Mr. Ryland took up a seat on a chair, looking at his laptop screen. "I have received something interesting, shall I say- informative last night. I didn't get a good chance to go over it until today after work. Would you like to know what it entails?"

Stan sighed in response.

"It has something to do with you. In fact, everything to do with you. Stan, do you think your parents know you well?"

Stan shut his eyes for a moment before opening them again half-way. "Yes…" he whispered.

Mr. Ryland nodded. "Do you feel your mother knows you well?"

Stan gritted his jaw in anger even if it made his teeth hurt. "_Yes_."

"And your father? How well do you think he knows you?"

"G-good. Stop, please."

Mr. Ryland glanced at his screen yet again. "Well some of these you wouldn't know the answer to, you would have been too young. I would like to know however, what is your favorite home-cooked meal?"

"Why"-

"Well Stan?"

The thought of his favorite home-cooked meal made Stan's stomach pull in and his insides groan. "Ch-cheesy chicken… spa-spaghetti."

Mr. Ryland nodded. "Do you have it often enough that your parents would know this?"

"No. But- but Mom knows it's- it's my favorite," Stan strained.

"Hmm. Stan, what would you say you like least about your mother?"

"_What_?"

"Answer the question."

Stan rolled his eyes. "I dunno. She likes to worry… thinks I get into d-dangerous situations." His throat burned as he said this.

Mr. Ryland grinned slightly. "Just one more question: what is your shoes size?"

Stan's eyes burned now as he wondered what was up with these weird questions. "Four."

Mr. Ryland nodded and shut his laptop. "You know Stan, the next phase of my plan can now begin. Of course there is something I need from your father. It might be a little tricky to get. But I have to obtain it for the final act to commence. And because of this you get to live another day."

Stan was confused. Didn't he already have what he needed? Wasn't all of this to get the beer recipe from his dad in the first place? He struggled to find the words, not having the energy to forcefully ask about such things. Thankfully Mr. Ryland sensed his frustrations.

"Ahh yes. You were probably thinking the reason I kidnapped you was so your father could hand over his beer recipe to me. Tut tut, if only it were that simple. No, the grand scheme of things is far greater. And it all rests on your father's shoulders whether he knows it or not. What I want from him is actually a cinch when you think of it. Once I am satisfied your suffering will be at an end. I promise you this." He then got to his feet and tucked his laptop under his arm. "And because of that, you live."

As soon as he left Stan blinked back tears as he felt something tickle his cheek. It was Lupin the rat checking up on him. "Th-thanks," he whispered to the animal. "I- I know I don't have many t-tears. It's the thought that…counts." He sighed heavily. "He asked me weird que-questions Lupin. Why? Why does he still keep me…alive? What- what does Dad have that he wants? And if he does get it… is he finally gonna kill me?" The rat came sniffing around and at his hand. Stan twitched his fingers slightly to touch the rodent's nose. He grinned. "Promise me Lupin, whatever- whatever happens, you'll stay with me. I'll slip you in-into my pocket. Just don't leave me." He felt his eyes grow tired and heavy once more. "Don't… leave me Lup…" he stopped short of finishing his sentence before drifting off to sleep again.

April 25th

Shelley was walking the usual pathway home after school that Thursday afternoon. She sighed when she spotted the mailbox- stuffed with mail. Of course something simple like getting the mail had been forgotten as of late. She opened the box up and scooped out everything inside before stepping inside as she mindlessly flipped through the contents. It didn't take long for her to stop in her tracks; the third envelop of the pile was extremely curious. She dropped everything else in her hand when she saw what was written on the envelope.

To: Mom and Dad

2001 Bonanza St, South Park CO

80439

Shelley glanced up to see her mother asleep on the couch. Shelley bit her lip; should she open it first then wake her up if it were serious enough? She didn't want to worry her mother even more but of course this was another note, a clue, as to where Stan was. Thinking fast, Shelley went upstairs with the note and called up Kyle.

"What is it?" he immediately asked.

"Another weird note or whatever from Stan came in the mail today."

"What? What the hell was"-

"I didn't open it yet. It was addressed to our parents again. Mom's asleep on the couch. I'm not too sure what I should do, she does need to catch up on her sleep."

Kyle swore, obviously thinking hard as well. "Okay, but let's think about this: your parents aren't really in the right mind to decipher whatever the note might say. I- I think maybe it's best you're the one that reads it first."

Shelley frowned at the envelope in her hand. "I could do that. I did read the first one he sent before anyone else."

"Right. I hate to say this but you're pretty much in charge of this thing right now Shelley."

Shelley rolled her eyes. "Stupid turd, you're the one with all the research and shit."

"Yes but you're the one who can talk to your parents. Calm them down. Inform them of…things. You're the only one who had the balls to go to the morgue to identify a body! I- I wish I could take the lead but I can't. It's hurting too much Shelley. I can't take much more of this," Kyle's voice filled with emotion.

Shelley looked at the envelope again as she thought on her parents and now Kyle. All three had now been consumed with tears and sadness since Stan's disappearance. Shelley was the only one who had still been able to resolve herself from those feelings. She didn't want to make certain decisions about her brother's kidnapping but it was now her duty, however sour it made her feel.

"I'll tell you what it says soon."

"O-okay. Thanks Shelley."

Shelley tossed her phone on her bed and took a seat at her desk. She looked the envelope over again before sighing and opening it up, pulling out another note written on a sheet of paper about the size of a competition book and looked down to read. Her heart turned ice cold in her chest, her fingers numb. She read it twice more just to make sure before texting Kyle back.

_Get here now._

The scene at the Marsh house was once again thrown into chaos. Police cars lined the street; Sharon was currently in the back of an ambulance getting some much-needed oxygen while Randy was in the dining room face in his arms, bawling. Through it all Shelley was doing something she never in a million years saw herself doing- comforting Kyle. At the moment he was crying on her shoulder while she had an arm around him. To comfort her own brother the few times in his life made her want to throw up but to have his best friend doing this? Tears burned Shelley's eyes all the while but she still did not like this, not one bit. She hoped he'd hurry up and suck in his tears already.

"He's- he's _dead_," Kyle moaned.

Shelley sighed. "No, that's not what the note said turd," she said softly yet firm.

"He's as good as! Don't you get it? All hope is lost, whatever the fucker who- who kidnapped him is p-planning… he's doing it right now. Stan's- he's being tortured or dying or dead and we did nothing to prevent it!" he yelled and tore away from Shelley.

Shelley glared and took hold of his collar, surprising him. "Listen up you stupid fucking turd- _Stan is not dead_. This is exactly what the fucker wants us to think. Don't you get it? He likes to play in riddles. To tease us. He wants us to think Stan is dead so he can- I don't know, stop contacting us. If he loses contact with us we'll believe there's nothing more we can do and the big search to find Stan will be called off. I don't know what his gain is from all this but I know Stan is still alive. If he thinks we're all out of the picture he'll finally slip up. Leave a huge clue as to where Stan is. We cannot let this note shake us up. C'mon, this is the pivotal point in which you use that fucking brain of yours and investigate like never before. This is the point of no return. Stan's going to need us now more than ever. Understand?"

Kyle was still rigid in her grip but he nodded slightly. She threw him off and away from her. After brushing himself off, he walked over to a few officers who were looking at the note and envelop in the kitchen.

"A-hem"- Kyle cleared his throat. "I know you guys are going to be taking that note back to the station but could I take a few pictures first?"

The one bald officer shrugged but handed out the note and envelope. "Sure thing kid."

Kyle took out his phone and snapped some picture of the note and envelope, making sure he could take in every little detail he could from them without actually having them physically with him. Suddenly Randy's head shot up from its place on the breakfast table for he had just received a text. He wiped his cheeks dry to look at what it was.

"Mr. Marsh?" prompted an officer by the name of Milnez.

"It- it just says 'check your e-mail."

"Who is it from?" an officer rushed.

"From the perpetrator obviously," Kyle bit back.

Eyes wide, Randy hurriedly got to his feet to grab his laptop before running back down and setting it up on the table again. To no one's surprise there was a new e-mail from One4One14.

"What does it say?" asked Officer Milnez.

Randy frowned as he read the e-mail, "'Randy Marsh, you have received this e-mail for you have so far performed terribly in the quest I have for you. Not that I expected much to begin with.' Hey!" he cried out.

"_Dad_," Shelley glared.

"Right. 'I do have to inform you however that you have something I would like to have. But since you failed so far in certain tasks, I am not expecting you to ever figure out what that is. For your punishment you will watch as… your son slowly dies…' What? 'You have as long as it takes for this to happen to give me what I want. Keep in touch. One4One14.'"

Randy's mouth flapped around like a fish before he scrolled down to a link. He cautiously opened it and suddenly a live video feed began to play on his laptop.

"Stan…." He gasped.

Shelley and Kyle huddled around the screen to indeed see what had to be Stan Marsh in his current state. He was lying on his side in a small metal-framed cot, apparently asleep. There was a chain attached to his left ankle. A few minutes in he woke himself up to some coughing before tuning on his back. His eyes were half-way open as he stared off into the dark walls around him. A single bright bulb was illuminating him partway. No one spoke for nearly fifteen minutes. Kyle finally tore his eyes away from the screen. Seeing his best friend in such a state was sickening.

"So let me get this straight: you apparently have something this fucker wants. But if you don't get him it Stan will die. And- and we're going to witness it happening…" Kyle's blood turned to ice as he said this.

Randy hid his face, tears streaming down his face once again.

"And- and we won't know when that will happen. He looks really sick and weak already. He- he could go at any t-time," Kyle choked out. He looked over at the video that was playing; there weren't any Xs in the corner to close out of it. It would always be there whenever Randy looked at his laptop. Kyle quickly took another picture of the link that One4One14 sent Randy and with that, left the Marsh house, head too full to take in much else.

Kyle spent the rest of the night texting Shelley as she kept him informed of things back on her end. She spoke how she really didn't want to show her mother the live video of Stan but had to once Sharon was finally stable enough to return from the back of the ambulance. Sharon was deeply disturbed at the thought of potentially watching her son die right before her eyes but in a way felt comforted for the first time in weeks. She finally could see that Stan was indeed alive and she could watch over him even if he might not be aware of it. Shelley already knew watching the video playing would now be her mother's new form of coping. Kyle meanwhile typed in the video's web address into his own browser so he too could have the video of Stan playing on his computer screen. He couldn't afford to miss anything, any sign from his friend that he was still hanging on.

It was now eleven and Kyle was still pouring over the note that Stan had sent his parents. Again, it looked to be from his hand although there were slight differences compared to his first note. While he still made a loop on his Gs and Ys and the letters weren't lined up properly on the lines, the writing overall looked sloppier. Almost as if Stan was in too weak or frightened of a state to write normally. Not to mention he misspelled another word like last time.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I am sorry to tell you that I must go. I do not want you to be blaming yourselves, you did the best you could but sometimes these things happen. This isn't what I imagined life would throw at me but sometimes you just have to accept it and move on. I will be okay in the end. Thanks for everything. I love you all and will miss you tremendosly. Sorry. Love, Stan_

Kyle's eyes were itching with sleep but he couldn't sleep. It didn't matter that tomorrow was Friday and therefore school. He had to figure this out. He had printed out the pictures of the note already and was currently staring into it. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Stan had apparently written with a normal pencil on a sheet of composition notebook paper. Kyle glanced up at the live video feed yet again. Stan was on his back still and hadn't moved much in a while. But he knew he was still alive. He could see his chest rise and fall slowly. He even saw his foot twitch minutes ago. He was alive, but for how long? Kyle tapped a pen on his desk, trying to make sense of the note. He hadn't come up with much information since Stan disappeared. Now was the chance. Shelley said so herself, now was the open window in which the perpetrator would make a mistake, not take note of something. Let something slip-

Kyle's eyes dilated at that moment and his heart skipped a beat. There seemed to be a smudge of some sort at the very bottom right corner of Stan's note. Kyle brought it up close to inspect what it could be. He was sure that's what the smudge was but just to be sure he took out a magnifying glass to look at it closer. Written in very tiny marks was the number 34.

"Fuck…" Kyle whispered. What the hell was 34? Stan _had_ to have intentionally written it down in the note. It had to be some sort of clue. Something that slipped past the captor's eye when he mailed this letter yesterday! But was the hell did it mean? What was significant about the number 34? Kyle hadn't a clue, but he still felt more excited and confident about finally being able to do something to help out his friend that he could go to bed with a small smile on his face, the first time he had done so in a long time.

_Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I finally had inspiration to write a oneshot of Stan on Tegridy Farms, based off the episode Band in China. It is called The Rise and Fall of Crimson Dawn so check it out, please! I hope you could distinguish Randy vs. Sharon's answers to the quiz listed in this chapter. I am trying to get another little Halloween story out with the boys when they were little so be on the lookout for an update to Tales of Toddlerhood. There are three more chapters left for this story. How do you think it will end? Please reply, it makes my day. Thanks._

_Lots of love: Rose, October 25, 2019_


	10. Bravery, Daring, Nerves

**BRAVERY, DARING, NERVES **

_April 26__th_

Kyle went into school that Friday in an almost calm state of mind. His friends gave him curious looks all that morning until it was time for first recess. Cartman wasted no time hurrying over to him as soon as they walked down the halls to go out.

"Why the hell are you so happy all of a sudden?" he demanded.

Kyle looked back with a slight frown. "I never said I was happy."

"You sure seem satisfied about something," Craig noted.

Kyle glanced around him before sighing and pulling out his phone. "I think I finally have a major clue as to where Stan is. Or- what happened to him or something."

"Really?" Butters gasped and peered over his shoulder.

Kyle noted that along with Butters, Cartman, and Craig, three other boys appeared: Kenny, Token, and Jimmy.

"It has to be something. After the crazy scene at the Marsh house last night, well, I don't know how much you know. Another weird note came in written in his hand. Of course the actual note was taken to the station but I still took pictures of it to see what I could decipher from it." He pulled up the picture of the note to the others. "I know it's hard to tell what it says so I printed the picture up too. And well, tell me if you see what I did."

He handed over the printed version of the note. Each boy took a turn looking it over.

"What's this smudgy mark thing?" Token pointed out at the bottom of the page.

"Exactly! It's completely out of context from the rest of the note! I looked at it with a magnifying glass and I see that the smudge is actually the number thirty-four."

"Thirty-four? What's that mean? You- you think it was written by Stan? Or maybe that number was already on the paper before he wrote the note?" Butters questioned.

Kyle gave the blond boy a blank look; sometimes he wondered how Butters could be one of the kids with the top grades in class with the questions he asked.

"_Obviously_ Stan wrote in dickhole!" Cartman raged. "But why… is the real question."

"Exactly. I-I know it's recess right now. We probably only have ten minutes left so there's not much time to talk over things now. But as soon as the lunch bell rings I want us all to pour over this note and figure out what the hell this random number means. Got it?"

"Team Save Stan- ho!" Butters rang out, fist in the air.

Once the lunch bell rang at twelve the boys gathered around chatting as they walked downstairs to the cafeteria.

"We need a good table where we can discuss things. One away from everyone else."

"We can re-reserve the one in the back near the trash cans. No one likes sit-sitting there," Jimmy spoke and hurried along.

"Great. I'll get out my notebook to jot down possibilities. How many of you brought lunch from home?"

Kenny and Token raised a hand.

"Okay, save the back table. Everyone, we need to buy our lunches as fast as possible. And no getting up for seconds!" Kyle bit at Cartman.

"Aww man…"

Once they entered the cafeteria Kenny and Token took a seat at the back table while the others went to buy their lunches. All the boys were able to sit down with their food in under ten minutes.

"Okay everyone, we all agree this note was written by Stan, correct?" Kyle asked around, showing the note. They nodded. "Yes it's messier than his usual writing but that could mean he's really weak or sick or something. But I think this was written by him, just as the first note was."

"What are we trying to figure out exactly?" Craig's monotone voice asked. "By the looks of it from the note, Stan's already dead."

Kyle glared, pointing a fork full of burrito in his face. "Stan is alive assmunch. I know it. Plus Shelley told me- never mind. It doesn't matter," he quickly brushed off.

"What did she tell you?" Butters asked.

Kyle shook his head. "Never mind, it's nothing. Only how she thinks Stan's still alive too. We can always look at the actual words later but right now I want to figure out what '34' means. Why would he write that? It's some sort of clue he wrote in, something he hoped someone would get. Now let's think…"

No one spoke for a couple minutes.

"Do we even have a good idea of who the perpetrator might be?" Token asked.

"Not really…"

"May-maybe '34' is a reference to a house number or address from the scumbag," Jimmy suggested.

"Maybe it's the number of a book. Like, something written on page 34 of a book Stan knows about," Kenny pointed out.

Kyle rubbed his chin nodding. "That makes sense. But what book? Stan doesn't read books too often in his free time."

"Maybe the bible?" Butters asked.

"How about a school book? If we think back on when Stan was actually kidnapped and what we were learning in class at the moment maybe that would point us somewhere," Token continued.

"Yeah. Yeah that makes sense!" Kyle got excited, a smile on his face. "We have to remember Stan was kidnapped weeks ago. 34 could be a reference to something going on back on March 28th."

"It could also mean page 34 of his favorite book," Kenny added in.

"Yeah. that's true too."

"What's Stan's fa-favorite book?" Jimmy asked as he ate his own burrito lunch.

Kyle thought for a few seconds but sighed. "I don't know. It's a secret. I know I've asked him before but he never told me."

"Maybe his parents know what it is?" Butters shrugged.

Kyle nodded as he began writing these things down in his notebook. "Great. This is all really great leads so far you guys. Let's ask Mr. Garrison about the lessons we had that last week of March after class, okay?"

Unfortunately that was easier said than done. Mr. Garrison looked annoyed when the boys cornered him after class, demanding he tell them what their lessons were the week of March 28th.

"Like I really have records like that?" he rolled his eyes.

"Damnit tell us man! A little boy's life depends on it!" Cartman slammed his fist on the teacher's table.

Mr. Garrison was able to pull up what the lessons were after checking a log in his computer. With that information at hand, all seven boys made their way to Kyle's house, each being given a separate task on a homework assignment to look into that might yield information as to what '34' meant in Stan's letter. Kyle was currently looking into the Reading Adventures textbook, seeing if that book was important in any way. He of course opened the book to page 34. On it was page two of a story called Jeff's Dream by Phil Tilerbog. The story was about a group of fifth grade kids clearing out an empty lot to make a baseball field in their low-income town. It was one of the first stories the class had to read when the school year began. Kyle remembered that Stan had enjoyed the story and had gotten an A+ on his homework assignment, answering the ten questions about the story. Stan talked of how he identified with the protagonist- Jeff. A boy who had a dream to make a baseball diamond and was stubborn and didn't back down from his dream. He was a leader of sorts to the other kids in how he rallied everyone behind him for his cause. But what did the story have to do with the number '34' written on the note from Stan?

_Probably nothing_, Kyle found himself thinking sadly. He didn't want to look too into something that might not be there. He looked around his room where the others were looking into books and such too. "Has anyone found anything yet?"

"Unless one of these math problems were a particular favorite of his, no," Craig spoke flatly, holding up their Mathematics: Grade 4 textbook.

Kyle stared at the book for a moment, thinking.

"Something up?" Kenny asked, noticing the expression on his face change.

Kyle blinked but didn't move. "No, at least, I don't think so." Yet he couldn't take his mind off the textbook. "Craig, can I see that?" The boy in the blue hat shrugged and handed it over. Kyle began flipping through it although he didn't know why.

"What is it Kyle?" Jimmy asked. The other boys were now taking notice as well.

"I- I don't really know. But something tells me math is involved somehow…"

"Involved in what asshole?" Cartman glared.

"I don't know…" Kyle then glanced over to his computer screen where the video feed of Stan was playing. Stan was currently asleep in the cot-like bed which is how he appeared nearly every time he looked at the video. Kyle watched for a couple minutes before looking back down at the text book. "You guys… parent-teacher conferences were held that month of March. Remember?"

"So? Those were the first week of March. According to your calculations Stan was kidnapped on the 28th," Cartman pointed out.

"True but- well…" Kyle sighed, not knowing how to say what was on his mind. "I don't know if I should tell you guys. Stan might get super pissed if you knew."

"Well unless that video feed has a recorder on the other side of it for Stan to hear, it doesn't matter what he thinks does it?" Cartman sneered.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I remember the night Stan was kidnapped I got a phone-call from his mom. She asked me if I had seen or heard from Stan that night. Of course I hadn't. She then asked me if Stan…. Ever went to his MathQuest group that day."

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Finally Cartman was the one to break it- with the sound of hearty laughter.

"W-wait, you mean to tell me that- that little douche is-is in fucking _MathQuest_? The group for fucking retards?" Cartman chortled.

Kyle ignored this as he spoke to the other boys. "I remember that day very well. And now that I look back on it… it seems a little strange. Stan was behaving rather strange. Yes he was super angry that morning for a variety of reasons concerning his family. And before school even began he- he pulled me aside, telling me he had something important to tell me," he trailed.

"Yes we already established that," Cartman rolled his eyes. "C'mon fucking Jew. What the hell does that have to do with the fact that Stan's in MathQuest like a loser? Hahaha!"

"Stan showed me his report card a couple weeks before he was kidnapped. He was failing math." Kyle looked over at the video of Stan again. "What if the thing he wanted to tell me that Thursday morning was that he was going to MathQuest lessons? Yes! It makes sense now!"

"I still don't see the connection," Kenny shrugged.

"Don't you find it a little odd that the day Stan tells me he has something big to tell me, he disappears? This is Stan. I'm sorry but none of you get it- we're best friends. In a way we make it our mission to tell each other anything and everything. It's always been this way since preschool. The fact that he was keeping this from me must have been tearing him up. He wanted me to know he was getting tutored in math but of course he would think _I_ would think him stupid." Warmness was spreading all throughout Kyle's body now as he began connecting dots together in his head. "The way he was behaving that Thursday… and Thursdays before that. I remember two weeks before Stan disappeared he was acting funny, saying he had detention after school. On a Thursday. And the week after Stan got himself out of class early, telling Mr. Garrison he had to go to the nurse. Minutes before the bell rang. I found that really weird. But he was obviously too embarrassed to let me know he was in MathQuest!"

"I would be," Cartman remarked, arms crossed.

"But Kyle, what does any of that have to do with Stan disappearing? Or the number 34?" Butters questioned concern on his face.

Kyle didn't answer, he looked around, almost mad with adrenaline. "Does anyone know the name of the instructor for the fourth-grade MathQuest tutor group?"

"All I know is it's some sixth grade teacher," Token answered.

"What room is it held?"

"Has to be one of the sixth grade classrooms, right?" Butters looked around at the other boys.

Kyle got to his feet. "C'mon you guys, we have to find out right now."

"Will the hell are we going now?" Cartman asked.

"Back to school. If we get there in enough time we can still catch Principal Victoria and ask her about the fourth grade MathQuest."

"Oh hell no. I am not going back to _skewl_ after getting out just an hour ago," Cartman protested.

"Fine, don't, whatever. But I am determined to save him from _this_"- Kyle pointed furiously to the computer screen where Stan had finally opened his eyes halfway and was looking upwards.

One by one the other boys hurried out of the room. Cartman looked behind him at the video. Stan's frail body shook as he coughed.

"_Damnit_. Fucking pussy making me miss out on _my_ evening… stupid gaywad…" Cartman mumbled to himself angrily as he followed after the other boys.

The boys hurried off to South Park Elementary as fast as they could and immediately burst into Principal Victoria's office.

"Boys! What are you doing in here?" she gasped, turning away from a filing cabinet she had opened.

"We need to ask you about MathQuest," Kyle rushed.

Principal Victoria frowned as she shut the cabinet. "What do you want to know about it?"

"Who's in charge of the fourth grade group?"

The woman still looked confused. "I don't know why you boys need to"-

"_Please_ Principal Victoria, we're trying to figure out what happened to Stan. I really think I'm onto something finally but I have to know who teaches the fourth grade MathQuest," Kyle spoke, trying not to sound too desperate even if he was.

"Boys…"

"I already know Stan was getting tutoring in math. I just have to know by whom," Kyle cut across her.

The blonde woman sighed but nodded. "Okay. Generally discussion of the tutor groups is private information between teacher and parent. I'll make an exception today. The fourth grade tutor is Mr. Ryland."

Kyle raised a brow. "Mr. Ryland?"

"Yes. Do you know of him?"

Kyle frowned but shook his head. "No, sorry. I just know someone with that name. He works at my Jewish Day Camp. What room is he located?"

"Thirty-four."

Kyle could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at that moment. He looked around him and saw the same shocked look on his friends' faces too.

"Um, th-thanks Principal Victoria for your time…"

The seven boys gathered around in the hall after their meeting.

"Well? Do you really think it's a clue?" Butters asked.

"It's too much of a fucking coincidence if not. C'mon!" Kyle led the way upstairs and down the hall where the sixth grade classrooms were. They stopped right at room number thirty-four. Kyle shared a nervous look with his friends before knocking on the door. No answer. He tried jiggling the doorknob but it was locked. "Damnit!" he growled.

"Now what?" Butters asked.

Kyle rubbed his itchy eyes, trying to think. "Like I said, it's too much of a coincidence that the room number is the same as the one Stan wrote in the note. This has to be our guy. But he's not here. We have to get more info on him. Let's get back to my house. I'll call Shelley, see if she can come over and help."

"Aww, does she have to come over?" Butters frowned as they walked back downstairs.

"Yes. She's Stan's older sister. She might know something about this Mr. Ryland guy. I don't know if she had him when she was in sixth grade. Nevertheless, surely she's seen him before and might tell us something about him. Let's go."

With that thought in mind, the boys made their way back to Kyle's house. Once there Kyle called up Shelley and asked her if she wanted to stop by to go over his latest findings. She agreed although seemed annoyed to be discussing anything in front of the other boys. So once again the boys were situated in the basement with the large whiteboard out. Shelley sitting in a chair isolated from the others.

"Shelley, did you know that Stan was in the tutor group MathQuest the day he disappeared?" Kyle asked, pen in hand.

Shelley's brows rose slightly. "Hmm, was he now? That's news to me."

Kyle frowned. "When your mom called me up that Thursday night she asked me if I knew whether or not Stan made it to his group. That's- that's how I found out."

Shelley smirked. "Stupid turd, serves him right. He's always been pathetic at math."

"Shelley please. We were told by Principal Victoria that the group is run by sixth-grade teacher Mr. Ryland. Do you know anything about him? Did you have him as a teacher in sixth grade?"

Shelley went back to glaring. "No I didn't have him. And I don't think I can give you any information about him. It's not as if I paid any attention to teachers that weren't mine."

"But you have to know something. Think back on some field trip all the sixth graders had to take. Surely Mr. Ryland was there. Surely he's not a brand-new teacher. Sixth grade was what-? Four years ago? What do you remember?"

Shelley sighed and closed her eyes, trying to think back to sixth grade. "I remember taking some lame field trip to Denver to visit the capitol. It was some huge trip for sixth graders in neighboring towns so there were a bunch of teachers there. I was in a big bus with the other students and teachers in sixth grade from South Park. I do remember one teacher though… he sat at the back the entire ride there. Hardly engaged with his students. Just telling them to quiet down now and again. Otherwise he sat and read a book. I don't remember much about him, only that he had brown hair and glasses."

For the second time that day Kyle felt his heart miss a beat. He told everyone to 'hold on' before running up and out of the basement. He ran back in two minutes later and shoved a picture under Shelley's nose.

"Does this man look familiar to you?" he demanded, showing her a picture that had been taken recently from the Best Friends Day at his camp. It showed all the counselors with the troupe of boys.

Shelley slowly took hold of the picture and gasped. "Yeah, yeah he does. Who is this?"

"Fuck it! He's been around me all this fucking time! This is one of my counselors from my camp! Mr. Ryland! _Fuck_!"

The others all took turns looking at the picture now.

"You mean he has two jobs?" Butters asked.

"He must. Fucking hell, why wouldn't he? It's not as if Jewish Camp Counselor is a high-paying job right? Of course he would have a 'day job' to make ends meet. He's a fucking sixth grade teacher at school!"

Shelley looked troubled as she got to her feet. "What made you come to this conclusion anyway turd?"

Kyle swore again as he began pacing. "I found a clue written in the note Stan just sent! On the very bottom of the page was the number 34. Principal Victoria told us that the room number MathQuest takes place in is 34! Stan was reaching out to us! He wants us to know that Mr. Ryland is the guy who kidnapped him!" Even though he was angry as all hell Kyle still hadn't felt this excited about something in months.

Shelley took up the printed version of the note in her hands carefully. She frowned. "That's a big accusation turds. This may not be the guy. The little 34 written down here could be something for only my parents to figure out. The note _was_ written out 'to Mom and Dad', remember? Who's to say it's a reference to Mr. Ryland?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "It's him and you know it Shelley. It all makes sense. This guy teaches the fourth grade MathQuest. He probably was the last person to see Stan before he went missing. We have to go to police right away."

Shelley slowly got to her feet. "All right, fine. Let's go then."

Together Kyle and Shelley went down to the police station, the other boys wanting to get back home at this point. The station was busy of course and it took a several minutes before they could talk to the lady running the front desk.

"How may I help you two today?"

Kyle stepped forward. "We have new information in the Stanley Marsh kidnapping case."

The woman raised a brow for a second before saying someone would be with them soon. Nearly twenty minutes later an officer came forward to meet with the kids.

"Hello you two. I'm Officer Fields; I understand you have some information concerning the disappearance of Stanley Marsh?"

"He was kidnapped. And yes we have some vital information you need to know," Kyle gave the man a hard look.

"Very well, follow me."

Officer Fields led Kyle and Shelley into a room towards the back. "Well what brings you in today?" he asked after the three took a seat around a table.

Kyle glanced at Shelley before pulling out a sheet of paper from his pocket. "First off, I was wondering if there were any leads on the note that Stan sent to his parents days ago?"

Officer Fields raised a brow. "How do you know?"

"I'm his best friend. This is his sister. We're kind of heading this case ourselves. Anyway, I found something at the bottom right corner of the paper of the note. I discovered it was the number 34. Since it was written in such tiny marks I figured it was a clue that Stan purposefully left on the note so someone could crack this case. After some sleuthing I found out that Stan was in a math tutoring class the day he disappeared. The number of the classroom is 34 and the teacher there was Mr. Ryland," Kyle recited.

"Really now?"

Kyle showed the man the printed version of the note Stan had written. "It all fits dude. Mr. Ryland kidnapped Stan! Why I don't know but he had to be the last person to see him before he went missing. It all makes sense. I- I don't know who else it could be."

Officer Fields rubbed his chin as he looked over the note. "It's very hard to make out what this mark is. Are you sure"-

"Yes dumbass, now get your lazy ass department out there and arrest him!" Shelley banged a fist on the table.

Officer Fields sighed as he handed back the note to Kyle. "We can't make any arrests until we question this man. If he is the perpetrator it shouldn't take too long to place him under arrest. I will inform my supervisor and get our men out there as soon as possible, okay?"

"Define 'as soon as possible'. This is my little brother that's been kidnapped and starved and who knows what else for over a _month_. You better make an arrest tonight so help me," Shelley glared, making a fist and punching her hand with it.

"We'll do what we can. Now run along you two."

Kyle and Shelley did not like the sound of that. The police force simply sucked for Park County. Even though there was a ten-year-old child missing not much effort was being put on finding out who kidnapped him or where he was being kept. But it had already been a long and exciting day so regretfully Kyle and Shelley went back home to await news.

7:30 P.M.

There was knocking on the door. Mr. Ryland frowned as he slowly put away the frying pan in the cupboard. He gave his wife a look and she put on a calm face before he went to answer the door.

"Oh, hello officers. What can I do for you this evening?" he spoke to the two men standing on his front porch.

"Evening Mr. Ryland," one officer tipped his hat. "Sorry to disrupt your Friday night but I was wondering if you could head back to the police station for a few questions?"

Mr. Ryland glanced behind him to look at his confused wife.

"I could, but I do have to inquire what this is about first."

"We'd prefer to discuss it back at the station," said the second officer.

"Very well. I will see you soon then honey," Mr. Ryland nodded to Charlene before following the officers into the car and off to Park County Police Station.

Mr. Ryland took up a seat in an interview room as he faced the first man- Officer Milnez. He was passed a bottle of water.

"Good evening Perry is it?"

Mr. Ryland nodded.

"Before we begin, do you have any idea as to why you were called in her tonight?"

Mr. Ryland gave a slight grin. "Honestly I'm not sure as to why I am here tonight."

Mr. Milnez took up a seat now and passed along a picture to the man- an image of Stan both with and without his hat.

"Have you seen this boy before Perry?"

Mr. Ryland looked at the image for a moment before looking back up. "No I can't say that I have. Why? Did something happen to him?"

Officer Milnez raised a brow. "As a matter of fact something has. This boy has been missing since March 28th."

"Really? The poor child. How old is he?"

"His name is Stanley and he is ten years old. He is from the Park County area. More specifically, South Park. That is not too far from where you live, correct?"

Mr. Ryland nodded. "Yes, I do live in Middle Park. Such a scary thought, a child going missing so close to home."

Officer Milnez glared at the man. "According to our records this boy is in a math tutoring class with you. Are you sure you haven't seen him before?"

Mr. Ryland looked at the picture a second time, rubbing his chin in thought. "Now that you mention it he does look a little familiar. Honestly I see so many kids every day I start to lose track on names and faces."

"So this boy does look familiar to you?"

"Yes, he does," Mr. Ryland nodded.

"According to our sources here Stanley went missing on March 28th. That was a Thursday. The MathQuest tutor group you teach meet after school on Thursdays. The boy was accounted for by his family and friends. His name was checked off the roll call sheet for his regular fourth grade class. It's after school was over that he seemed to have disappeared without a trace."

Mr. Ryland said nothing as he kept his face relatively blank.

"You see the concern we have Perry. A child goes missing after he has a math class with you. We want to piece together what happened to him that Thursday afternoon."

Mr. Ryland's face remained unchanged. "I cannot tell you what happened to the boy. Yes I do remember having him in my class. I am sure he was in it that day in March. But as to what happened to him after I cannot say."

"But you do see why we would be concerned you may have seen him last, don't you Perry?"

"I do but this is a big world. A lot of evil people in it. Of course I am disturbed to hear that a child has gone missing. I work with children every day. This is the last thing I want to have happen in a nearby town. Much less the town I work in."

"Perry, do you recall if Stan ever left your classroom the afternoon of March 28th?"

"Yes, he did leave after the tutoring lesson was over that day."

And on and on it went. Finally, two hours later, an exhausted Officer Milnez let him go.

"Just so you know Perry, we do still have reason to be suspicious of you. We will be making a visit to your home in the near future so we advise you to be on your toes. Good night," the officer nodded.

"Thank-you. Good night," Mr. Ryland grinned and left the room.

_April 29__th_

"You told him what?!" Kyle cried out at Officer Milnez that Monday after he came by the police station after school.

"I didn't want him to get too comfortable about the idea that he's off the hook- for now," Officer Milnez explained to the boy.

"You idiot! That's exactly what he's going to think now! Now he has plenty of time to go home and clean up any evidence on what he's doing to Stan! He might kill him for good now! You don't tell the suspect you're going to investigate their home before you do so! You show up at their house with a warrant, catch them by surprise! Who the hell is running this police force?" Kyle looked wildly about, getting some looks from a few passing police officers.

"Kyle, by the sounds of it Mr. Ryland is innocent. He made a good point, anything could have happened to your friend after school ended."

Kyle shook his head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. A kid's life is on the line and no one here seems to give a crap. So far I've done more to help him than anyone in this clown of a station. What else needs to happen before you take this seriously? Stan's my best f"- tears burned his eyes as he spoke. He swallowed back his emotions however. "Mark my words, I will find out what happened to him. I will bring Mr. Ryland down. And I will be getting Stan back home to his parents. I swear it." With that, he stepped out and on his bike back home.

Kyle knew he should be starting on his big science project when he got home but instead he went to his computer to do some watching of the live video feed on Stan. He would do this any free hour he could. Knowing his friend was so sick and close to death he couldn't miss a moment of staring at him. As long as he saw Stan open his eyes, twitch a hand or foot, turn over, or shudder in a painful breath, Kyle still had confidence he'd be able to save him. He wasn't gone, not yet. He was hanging on like he knew he could. As the hours went by Kyle could only stare back helplessly, going over and over again in his head, _just a little longer Stan. Just hold on a little while longer. We're gonna save you. Just hold on a little while longer…_

It was now 8:45 P.M. Kyle watched as Stan, lying on his back as usual, looked over to his right side and began flexing his hand slightly. Almost as if checking to see how his reflexes were. At that same moment he tried moving his left ankle, the one that was chained up. Stan then gave a deep sigh that said joints still worked. But Kyle raised a brow. He had seen Stan make those same exact movements two days ago at this same exact time. Kyle knew since he began writing a log as to interesting points of the live feed. Times where his friend seemed to have slightly more energy. Kyle took out his log and looked down at the page.

Saturday, April 27th

_8:46 P.M.: Stan moved his right hand, then his left ankle. Perhaps he wants to see how weak he is or if his ankle is broken. He seemed satisfied that that wasn't the case._

"That is a bit odd he did the same thing at the same exact time as before… unless…" Kyle stared hard at the screen, tapping his pen to his paper as he often did when in deep thought. He had a sudden theory as to what might have just happened with the live feed. Hoping he was wrong, Kyle drew in a breath and continued to watch, waiting for another exact moment to happen, 10:18 P.M. He was tired but he had to wait and watch and see…

10:18 struck. Kyle stared at his computer more intently than ever before. Stan was awake again and out of nowhere it appeared he began to cry. His body shook as his face contorted in pain and he raised his right arm up to weakly wipe at his nose. This lasted for the next six minutes before he turned over on his left side, curling into a ball and was once again still. Blood cold, Kyle looked down at his log.

_10:18 P.M.: Stan started to cry. I counted for six minutes. He tried to wipe his tears. He then turned to his left side. Hasn't moved since._

"Fucking hell man…" Kyle cursed when his fear was realized. This wasn't a live feed of Stan at all. This video feed was in fact prerecorded footage of Stan locked away in the basement that the perpetrator was passing off as 'live'. He was using two days' worth of footage on a loop, hoping no one would take note. Kyle felt extremely worried now. This guy was good. And always one step ahead of everyone else. He could feel his confidence melting away like a puddle of ice cream in the hot summer sun. All hope seemed to be gone now.

_April 30__th_

Tuesday night had Mr. Ryland agitated. Ever since the police came knocking on his door and asked him questions he had to be on alert constantly. It was a moment he feared would happen, someone would connect the dots and realize he was the last one who saw Stan before he was kidnapped. And he was certain he knew who that someone was. A certain boy that wore a green hat and was part of the R.A. Milnetz Jewish Day Camp. Mr. Ryland knew that Kyle Broflovski was a smart boy even before he knew his connection with Stan. But now that he knew they were best friends it didn't surprise him at all that Kyle was so far relentless in figuring out who had kidnapped his friend. But the police didn't believe him, not yet. Mr. Ryland had to be careful now. As long as the final part of his plan was fulfilled then whatever happened after he would welcome with open arms.

Mr. Ryland took up the TV remote and switched it on to the news. Charlene sat on a chair nearby him but not actually on the couch. She had reason to keep her distance from him now.

"And now we turn your attention to Patricia with more information about the body of a child that was discovered in North Park nearly two weeks ago. Patricia?" spoke a woman on the news.

The camera turned to a woman with brown hair standing outside the Park County Medical Offices. "Thank-you Cathryn. I am standing outside the Park County Medical Offices where the body of a child is currently being kept at the morgue. If anyone forgot, a male child aged 8-10 was found in the woods nearby North Park on the nineteenth. Unfortunately medical examiners are still unable to place a positive I.D. on the child."

Mr. Ryland's head shot up. "No…" he breathed.

"There was speculation that the body was that of Stanley Marsh, a ten-year-old child that has been reported as missing since the end of March. But according to the family member that went to make the identification of the body stated that it was not that of young Stanley. There was also speculation that it was the body of another local boy, Anthony Lavert, but his father also released the statement that 'the body at the morgue is not of our Anthony. If anyone does know any information about our missing son we wish you to come forward.' The public is growing more anxious as to who the child could be while also concerned about Stanley Marsh. According to an unknown source, there is a very high chance that the boy from South Park is indeed alive and there is word that a massive search party is being set up to look for the boy. That's all I have for now. Reporting live from the Park County Medical Offices. I'm Patricia Sheffler. Back to you in the studios."

Mr. Ryland swore as he got to his feet, running a hand in his hair.

"P-Perry? Are you okay?" Charlene braved.

"Damnit. Damnit!" he knocked over the small table near the couch; the lamp on it crashed to the floor.

"Perry, what is it?"

Mr. Ryland sat back down on the couch and placed his face in his hands for a few seconds before looking back up. "They don't know. No one knows who the dead child is."

Charlene frowned as she carefully turned his way. "It- it is pretty sad isn't it?"

Mr. Ryland took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "This changes everything. The dead child has no identification still. And now if the public really is going to look for Stan…" he sat there thinking for the next twenty minutes. Finally he got to his feet, a look of determination on his face. "I am going to pay a visit to Stan. I will also need to take a certain something down there with me. Charlene, you know what to do."

Charlene meekly got to her feet. "Why though Perry? The boy hasn't done anything wrong today."

Mr. Ryland slammed his fist on the coffee table in front of the couch. "You will do as I say! Understand?"

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Stan moaned- all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and never wake up. Why was there always someone out there trying to disrupt that process? He cracked open his eyes to see Mr. Ryland in his line of vision. _Great, now what?_

"Good evening Stan. Or shall I say night as it is now 8:33. I wanted to give you a little something. Let's see here…" Stan flinched as he felt the man slip his hands behind his shoulders and back. "Relax son, I'm just sitting you up. Here…"

The next thing Stan felt was something hard and plastic being pressed to his lips. He panicked again and moved his face away but the thing pressed against his lips again. He clenched his teeth painfully, hoping the thing wouldn't force his mouth open.

"Relax Stan, I'm just giving you some water," Mr. Ryland spoke softly.

Stan glanced down to see that indeed, a bottle of water was in front of him. He felt foolish for reacting that way but also suspicious. Why the hell was this monster giving him water? Nevertheless, he carefully took in a few sips before the bottle left and he was lowered down.

"You know Stan, you should consider yourself lucky. You may very well be found soon. How soon? I'm not going to predict. Found dead or alive? Again, we will see how things play out. People are growing really concerned about you. And it's not just your family and friends. The public wants you found too. That's more than I ever thought would happen. You should know too that your friend Kyle believes he knows who your kidnapper is. What do you think of that?"

Stan said nothing as he tried to pay attention to what this man was saying.

"I'm sure you aren't surprised. I'm not either. He seems to be a smart kid. Still… if only such efforts were placed years ago…" he said this part more to himself but Stan still heard it. Mr. Ryland than got to his feet and began walking back and forth on the floor, talking to himself more than anything. "If only… then things would have been different. Still, things can be different. They can know what happened. A missing child's body can be found. Toby can be found… you'd like that wouldn't you Toby?"

Stan's eyes widened slightly at this. "W-who…?"

Mr. Ryland shook his head and sat down next to Stan again. "I must keep you alive until then. They will be on my tail soon enough. But you son- what is it about you that has everyone worried? Why you, and Toby was left for dust? Why?" he demanded.

Stan was feeling scared and confused as he tried to move away from this man but not succeeding of course.

"I do not like it. You will live and die by my hands. Then we will see if they remember you." Mr. Ryland pulled down the sleeve of Stan's left shoulder although it was hardly necessary now as the shirt hung on his frail frame like a sheet.

Stan drew in a deep breath as his shoulder was pierced yet again. What he did to deserve it this time he didn't know. Mr. Ryland was officially talking crazy now. A minute later he drifted off into his dreams once more.

_Stan was standing at a table with a map of the mall set out, trying to figure out the best strategy to get in come Black Friday. He was leading a group of other kids to get their hands on a PS4 that day after Thanksgiving. So far their attempts to draw in a lot of supporters had been futile but he was hopeful his side would win the council wars in the end. Although at that moment he was distracted, after Cartman told him Kyle thought of a way to prevent the PS4 kids from getting their counsels just an hour ago._

"_Well, what do you t-think Stan?" Jimmy asked._

_Stan rubbed his chin. "Sorry, thinking. Our plans might have to change you guys. I'm not sure this wedding idea will"- suddenly his phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket to see it was his mother. Rolling his eyes he ignored it. He continued to talk to the other kids of the PS4 side when he got another ring from her. "Damnit, what the hell does she want?"_

"_Something up?" asked one of the Vamp kids._

"_Sorry, my mom's just bugging me. Anyway, if there's just the slightest chance the Xbox people go and- damnit Mom stop calling me!" Angry, Stan excused himself and finally answered his phone. "What the hell Mom? I'm with the guys and we are"-_

"_You come home right this minute young man!" his mom bit back at him._

_Stan raised a brow at her angry tone. "Uhh, why?"_

"_You know why Stanley. Now get home _right_ now or else."_

_Confused Stan hung up before turning to the other kids. "Sorry everyone, I have to go."_

"_Why?" Jimmy asked._

"_I don't know. My mom sounds super pissed though. I don't think I did anything…" Stan shook his head before walking back home, slightly nervous as to what would happen when he walked in. His mother was standing a few feet away from the front door, hands on her hips and giving him a dark look. "Um, what's up Mom?"_

"'_What's up'? Oh I will tell you what is 'up' right now!" she began. "I just received a phone call from a nice old gentleman and he claims that he saw you in his garden and- and"- his mom let out a shudder. "He told me he saw you take a crap in his yard."_

"_What?" Stan gasped in a high-pitched way._

"_That was my reaction too. Do you want to tell me why you took a crap in someone else's yard young man?"_

_Stan shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let me get this straight, someone said they actually physically saw me crap in their yard?"_

_His mother crossed her arms. "Yes. He just phoned me. He told me he saw a boy wearing a brown shirt, cape, and red feathered helmet enter his garden and purposefully deface it."_

_Stan thought for a second before his eyes went wide. "Mom, that was Cartman. I know it was."_

"_Oh please, you always blame him if you're in trouble Stanley," she rolled her eyes._

"_But it's true this time! I heard Cartman talk about doing that just an hour ago! He threatened to crap in some guy's garden the last time I saw him! He was trying to double-cross me and shit but then the old man told me the truth and- and well, I didn't do it," Stan explained._

"_I don't know what reason you would have had to do such a thing but you are grounded Mister."_

_Stan's eyes bugged out. "What? Why? I didn't do anything!"_

"_You defecated in someone's yard Stanley!" his mom yelled back._

"_So you're just going to believe some random call from someone you don't know over your own son?!"_

_There had been an argument that lasted for the next ten minutes- which Stan lost. Even though he repeatedly told his mother that 'that was not something he would ever do and she knew it' he was still grounded from basically everything. She took away his phone, computer, and locked him away in his room for the next two weeks. He was only allowed to leave for school and scheduled bathroom breaks. She gave him food of course but he wasn't allowed to eat downstairs with the family. And since this was his mother Stan was really upset because this meant she was probably going to go through with her punishment, unlike his father, whom he knew would have given up soon enough for one reason or another._

_Kyle had come around day four into his punishment. Instead of being sincere and apologizing he put the blame on him, saying it wasn't fair he knew his dad was working at the mall on Black Friday. Stan told him he didn't even know but it didn't matter, his best friend wouldn't listen. It had been this way for a while now. Ever since Stan and Kyle had a huge falling out after his tenth birthday Kyle had been short with him quicker than usual. He would take Cartman's side on things and it stung deeply. Even if Stan was certain they would always be SBFs Kyle would go against his back often and it would make him rethink the whole SBF thing they had…_

The scene shifted…

_Stan was now standing in an unfamiliar hallway. It was long with tall walls on either side. This was a little odd; he was supposed to be reliving his worst memories. This was something brand-new. Nonetheless he began walking along the hall, his footsteps echoing loudly. It was only then that he noticed he was wearing a set of black robes. Odd too. Suddenly he heard a noise off in the distance. He turned round to see that there were large gaps in the walls and he became aware he was walking in a corridor of some sort based outside. He spotted an interesting creature ahead. He ran off to meet it and his heart skipped a beat- the creature had the head and front of an eagle but the hindquarters of a horse. A hippogriff, one of the creatures from the Harry Potter world. The creature flapped its wings and squawked. Stan took a hesitant step back._

"_You have to bow," spoke a voice behind him._

_Stan turned around to see a thin teenage boy walk up. A boy with messy black hair, glasses, and a scar on his forehead. No way…_

"_What?" Stan frowned._

"_You have to bow at a hippogriff to gain his trust," Harry Potter repeated. "Here, I'll show you." The boy looked at the hippogriff with confidence. "Hey there Buckbeak, it's me. You know me…" he bowed deep down and Buckbeak the hippogriff bowed back. Harry smiled and patted the creature's beak._

"_Right, I knew that," Stan said meekly._

"_Want to ride him?" Harry asked._

"_What? Naw, I might fall off."_

"_Well sure he's big but I've done it. It's a little odd at first but really exhilarating."_

_Stan shook his head again. "Well I'm smaller than you, I'll fall off for sure."_

_Harry gave him a confused took. "I thought you liked animals Stan. I mean, you aren't in Gryffindor House on a fluke, right?"_

"_Gryf- what?" Stan then looked down at his black robes to see that now the inside was rimmed in red and gold and there was a Gryffindor lion patch on the front. "No, you've make a mistake. I'm not in Gryffindor."_

_Harry shrugged now as he continued to pat the hippogriff. "True, some people can have attributes that suit other Houses. I do. But at the end of the day, the Hat put you in Gryffindor mate. And the Hat is never wrong." Harry then hopped on the hippogriff and gave a wave before taking off._

"_Dude! I'm not in Gryffindor!" Stan called back. "Fuck it…" he muttered and went to explore the grounds some more._

_He was now sitting in an unfamiliar room. It was cold and the furniture dark and hard, like the uncomfortable cots in the nurse's office. His robes were back to black._

"_Hello," spoke another voice now, a girl's. Stan turned back to see Hermione Granger coming forward now._

"_Hey mate," said the voice of Ron Wealsey behind her._

_Stan rolled his eyes. "Okay guys this is getting silly. I know I'm dreaming now."_

_The two sat on either side of him still._

"_Harry told us you don't feel comfortable being in Gryffindor," Hermione looked worried._

_Stan rolled his eyes again. "Because I'm not one! I'm like, in Hufflepuff or whatever."_

"_But you are in Gryffindor Stan. You've done some pretty impressive things," Hermione spoke._

_Stan sighed as he played with his robe sleeve. "I'm not that great at stuff…"_

"_Just like Harry," Ron smirked to Hermione who smiled back._

"_Don't be modest Stan, you do belong here. You are just as brave and strong as Kyle said you were."_

_Stan could feel tears in his eyes now. He wanted to wake up from this dream so badly now._

"_Please you guys, just leave me alone. I wanna wake up now."_

"_But you have to see how strong you are Stan," Harry's voice was heard and he stood in front of him now._

"_C'mon. I'm not. If I were then I would have been over this shit by now. Instead I'm inches from death and the worst part is"- Stan sniffed loudly now. "No one's gonna know. I'm gonna die and that's all my family and friends are going to have of me. My corpse."_

_No one spoke for what felt like an hour._

"_You are brave though," Hermione said yet again. "Didn't you take over an anti-whaling TV show? You were the captain and leader of a crew of adults, and you were only nine!"_

"_Well, I had to do something, no one else was," Stan explained._

"_But you are a great leader mate. You really can get others motivated, like any true Gryffindor," Ron chimed in. "You're often captain in your Muggle sports aren't you?"_

"_Maybe, but"-_

"_You are very headstrong too. Don't forget that you refused to vote and were therefore banned from town. That takes guts to not back down from," Harry reminded him._

"_Still, I"-_

"_He told off a guy too didn't he for being a fraud? In front of thousands. John Edwards or something?" Ron got excited._

"_Guys"-_

"_That wasn't the only time," Hermione piped up. "He told off thousands of others that believed in a religion called Scientology too and didn't care about the consequences."_

_Stan pinched his nose. "Only because"-_

"_Mate, you can't forget the time you trapped yourself in your bedroom with baby cows in order to save them from being slaughtered," Harry said calmly. "You grew very ill when you did that but you never backed down. That truly was a great act of bravery if I ever saw one."_

_Stan groaned. "Just listen you three! It's not about me being brave or anything. I was being stupid and irresponsible each time. I never think about the consequences to the shit I do. I just go in and react and that's it."_

"_Spoken like a true Gryffindor," Hermione grinned to the teenage boys by her._

"_You don't get it, I could never do half the things you guys have. Bend time to save someone from death? Fight off a giant snake with a sword? No way. I'm just- Stan. An average American kid. I still like having my mom tuck me into bed at night, my dad to play catch with. I let my older sister beat me up. I'm too afraid of making her angry and she'll knock out all my teeth. I'm… I'm nothing special…"_

_Suddenly Hermione and Ron vanished but Harry still remained. He took up a seat next to him now. "Stan, you know everything I went through in my third year, right?" Stan nodded. "I admit, I was pretty scared a lot of the time. But there wasn't any time to let that show. I had to do what I had to in order to make things right. I had to face off hundreds of dementors so I could save my godfather and myself. Us Gryffindors can be pretty prideful and hate admitting defeat. But Stan, don't do that now. Don't admit defeat."_

_Stan looked up, heart beating fast._

"_Don't let Mr. Ryland win mate. Your friend Kyle is right, you are a Gryffindor."_

_Suddenly the dark room they were sitting in warmed greatly and soon a great roaring fire was crackling away. The room was filled with many cozy sofas and chairs. He was in the Gryffindor Common Room._

"_Say it Stan," Harry said softly._

_Stan drew in a breath. "I'm- I'm a Gryffindor. I got this. I- I got this." Harry then pointed down at him and Stan saw his black robes turn into red and gold lined ones again. He beamed as he looked back up at the teenager. _

_Harry got to his feet now and suddenly was shouldering a broomstick. "Good luck Stan. I've gotta run, big Quidditch game I need to practice for."_

Stan tried calling out thanks when suddenly he shook himself awake. He was staring up at the dark ceiling of Mr. Ryland's basement. He licked his lips as he recalled on the crazy dream he had just had. The difference with things this time was that Stan was finally feeling confident about being rescued. He wouldn't give up. He hadn't backed down from things in the past. He wouldn't now. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kyle were right- he _was_ a Gryffindor. He had this.

_I hope enough of you are familiar enough with the world of Harry Potter to understand the dream Stan had. I always wanted to combine both worlds ever since I got into SP years ago, even if the scene was rather short. It is rather amusing going between both worlds- for Stan, 'dude' is a common phrase for a friend. In Harry Potter, boys tend to say 'mate' instead. And of course there's a lot more swearing in Stan's world, haha. Also, I have wanted to write a one-shot of Stan being grounded in the Black Friday trilogy but as with Stanley's Cup, can't come up with a story long enough for it right now. My little Halloween story is on hold for now, I'm so close to finishing this story that it's my main focus atm. Anyway, please do review. Also, if anyone has any ideas or comments I would love if you would send me a direct PM. I can't reply back if you don't provide me an actual name. Thanks again._

_Lots of love: Rose, November 12, 2019_


	11. I've Been Waiting for This

**I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS**

_May 1__st_

When Kyle had discovered that the live video feed of Stan was in fact on a loop he didn't know if he should tell the Marshes or not. No doubt they wouldn't take the news well and he didn't want to further upset them. Mrs. Marsh was already unstable and losing it. But as with anything, Kyle consulted Shelley first. He explained his findings to her and while she was of course angry that the video wasn't live, she decided it best not to inform her mother on it. Watching that video at all hours was Sharon's new form of coping. As long as she could see that her son was still alive she herself could get some sleep- even if it was never longer than a couple hours at a time. Any more upheaval and Shelley would have to consider placing her mother in a mental ward.

Of course Kyle went to the news with his new findings the next day. Yes the police sounded concerned and promised they would keep him in the know of things but Kyle still wasn't feeling very certain of their abilities. They simply put too much effort into things that didn't matter and no effort into what was actually important. All the while no one was aware of what changes Mr. Ryland was planning in his overall scheme.

_May 2__nd_

Mr. Ryland was a little agitated as he stepped into his home after work that evening. People at work were beginning to give him looks and whispers were floating about the staff room and halls of South Park Elementary. Sometimes he wished he could transfer over to Middle Park Elementary, it was only five minutes from home compared to the thirty he drove to South Park each morning. But there weren't any positions for sixth grade teacher in Middle Park at the moment. He was qualified to teach other grades of course but sixth grade was always a favorite. Seeing kids during the final year of elementary school, preparing them for sendoff to Jr. High was always exciting. But now even his students were giving him looks. Classes had quieted down significantly. He didn't mind this, always preferring silence over noise to begin with. But these were his students, children he had gotten to know since the beginning of September. It would do no good to explain to them that he had nothing to do with the Stan Marsh kidnapping case. And since when had this turned into a kidnapping? He disappeared, there was still no concrete evidence the boy was kidnapped. But Mr. Ryland had a feeling that Kyle Broflovski was fueling the fire of these allegations now. But none of that mattered now. Things were finally going to change…

Dinner was very quiet that night. Husband stared at wife but neither said anything for almost fifteen minutes. Mr. Ryland then pushed his plate aside.

"I want us to gather everything and leave for Plan B tonight," he spoke with a calm and even tone.

Charlene looked up, surprised. "Perry, why?"

"The time has come. The police have already questioned me. It is only a matter of time before they come by again with a warrant to search the house. I cannot let that happen. We must flee tonight."

Charlene sighed as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "How will we be able to?"

"I thought of things before hand, how could you think so less of me darling? I will begin to load the car. After, I will dismantle things down in the basement. I want us to leave the house at exactly 3 A.M. Understood? You will wrap the boy up so no one else sees and the two of you will stay in the backseat while I drive. Now does that sound like a plan?" Mr. Ryland continued in the same oddly calming voice.

"How…how can you be sure we won't be seen?"

"We might. But as long as the boy is not, that is the most vital part of this operation. If the boy is spotted then I might as well drive myself to the police station. You will keep him covered up Charlene."

"Perry… this is all becoming excessive. I'm not even sure what your main goal is anymore. You just told me that the boy's father has something you need. If you just tell me then maybe I could"-

"Your time for looking after the child is over Charlene," Mr. Ryland cut across her. "You disobeyed my simple rules and went against my back to give him extra food. The boy will now be in my care. And care I will give him for Stan must be kept alive. Alive at least until I can get what I need. Then I will dispose of him."

Charlene's face fell when he said this. "No… Perry no. Tell me you aren't actually planning to kill the poor thing."

Mr. Ryland got to his feet and went to put his dishes away in the dishwasher. "He will be of no use to me soon enough. I am going to begin to gather some things upstairs. It is now 7:33. We have little over seven hours to pack things up and leave."

Charlene had no choice but to buck up and nod and went to pack things from downstairs after she was given a list by her husband. He had written one should the time come for them to leave. And so Mr. Ryland inspected everything as Charlene began to pack them by the door. They weren't going to pack much, just certain essentials. There were other items already at the location he would be taken them to. At ten he went down to the basement to begin work there.

It took a minute or so before Stan was semi-aware of what was going on. He felt Mr. Ryland take the ankle restraint off his ankle before setting him on top the square table by the cot. This was all very odd- the only time he was freed from his ankle restraint the chain itself was still attached. That way the metal contraption would weigh him down if he ever got the bright idea of running off. Now it was off for the first time in a month. But there was no time to test to see if his ankle was in fact broken as he was tossed on the tabletop onto his left side. Through a cracked eye he saw Mr. Ryland take out a drill and other tools and dismantled the cot-like bed that was bolted to the floor. This could only mean one thing- his time in the basement was now over. Biting his lip. Stan darted his eyes about searching desperately. Where was he? Where was- his heart skipped a beat. A small pink nose began sniffing about the man's tool bag.

"Lu…Lupin…" Stan breathed, slowly moving a finger forward. A minute later the mouse came scurrying up the table leg and began sniffing around the boy. "Stay…with me." Stan slowly placed two fingers into his pants pocket. Lupin seemed to have gotten the hint and crawled inside. Thankfully Mr. Ryland was too preoccupied to take notice. For the next thirty minutes Mr. Ryland went about the basement removing all he could that might indicate a boy was being held captive down here. Stan watched him through tired eyes now and again. Finally Mr. Ryland turned to him and placed an arm behind his back and another under his legs and lifted him up.

"We are going upstairs now," the man said gruffly.

Stan was scared but he had to remind himself of the dream he had had. This wasn't the end. Whatever happened- he had this. He could get through it. Things only got odder from there. Stan was expecting the man to take him to some other room to beat him or something but instead sat him down rather gently onto something soft- a sofa. Stan's eyes traveled to the left of him to see that Charlene was sitting next to him rather stiffly. Mr. Ryland presented a bottle of water to Stan's lips. He took a sip before it was taken away.

"Wha…what…?" Stan breathed.

Mr. Ryland took a seat in a chair, a TV remote in hand. "What do you like to watch on TV Stan?" he asked.

Stan's eyes widened for a moment. _What in the hell?_

"I know, I know, I admit this is all very new for me, I confess," Mr. Ryland smiled slightly. "But I would like to know what do you like to watch on TV? What's your favorite TV show?"

"I"-

"Let's see… the time is now 8:45. What would you usually find yourself watching on TV at this time Stan?"

Stan swallowed at tears burned his eyes. On normal nights back home he was usually getting ready for bed at this time. He couldn't help it; he still got sleepy early enough during the evening and usually turned in no later than 9:30 most nights. He would be at home right now taking a nice hot shower. Brush his teeth. Wait for his mom to come in and tuck him in. Things he hadn't experienced in weeks and weeks…

"Stan? The Food Network? HGTV? A&E? TLC? The news? Nickelodeon? I would like to know. I really would," Mr. Ryland spoke in an almost sincere way. It was making Stan uncomfortable.

"I…don't…"

Suddenly Mr. Ryland snapped his fingers. "I know what you would like to watch." He switched the TV channel. "Here you go son, some ESPN. How could I forget? You like sports don't you?"

"I…"

"You do have the Broncos logo as your lock screen for your phone. There's a Rockies keychain on your house key. And how could I miss the Broncos pens and pencils that are in your backpack too?"

As weak as he was Stan could still feel his blood boil as the man spoke of such personal things he found while digging in _his_ backpack. _His_ belongings… but now he had no choice but to sit back and watch ESPN. Right now the two men on the screen were talking about basketball. Stan didn't hate the sport; he liked playing it in the park with his friends. But he didn't keep track of it too much outside the playground. But he watched, glad to finally have a change of pace for once, however suspicious this all was. Although the brightness of the television was beginning to bother his eyes; he hadn't been exposed to bright lights for a while now, having spent most of his time in a basement. The entire time he felt his pocket quiver- Lupin the mouse was still inside. Stan finally felt himself drift off, glad to block the brightness from the flashing screen even if he could still detect light bouncing off the walls through his closed lids. Whatever Mr. Ryland had planned, he was prepared to face it.

He must have fallen asleep for a few hours. The next thing he heard were voices talking in hushed voices above him.

"Wrap him in this," Mr. Ryland spoke.

Stan didn't open his eyes so wasn't sure what the man was talking about. Next thing he knew he was being carefully wrapped up in a warm blanket by Charlene. He popped open his eyes to look at her. The blanket sure felt nice… Stan then noticed the TV was now off. In fact all the lights in the home appeared to be off.

"Wait for my word," Mr. Ryland said somewhere out of sight. A few minutes passed. "Now. And carefully. He must not be seen, you hear?"

"Y-yes," Charlene whispered.

Suddenly Stan felt hands slip under his legs and behind his back before he felt Charlene adjust him so that his front was pressed against her chest as she supported him with one arm under his bottom and the other over his back. A few minutes later he took notice that she was walking out the door. Cold night air hit his face and he gasped in the blackness-again, it had been so long now that he had been outside. Through tired eyes Stan could just make out some stars in the distance. They twinkled happily at him. He couldn't help but grin slightly back. He heard a door open and Charlene carefully got into the backseat of a car with him still in her arms. Charlene then set him down on his back on the backseat and hitched up the blanket to his neck. Stan heard the door of the driver's seat open and figured Mr. Ryland had just gotten inside. He didn't have the energy to look. The car engine then roared to life and soon the three of them (four, counting Lupin) were on the road. Where Stan had no idea. But he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace as they went on their journey.

Things were about to end. How was still up in the air, but they were going to end. If unfortunately they were to end badly- if Mr. Ryland was about to drive him out to some desolate location to shoot him dead… well, at least Stan could say that he finally got to feel the cool night air once more before then. At least he had a furry friend by his side. At least he could feel a sense of calm and bravery as he faced his death, just like Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley reminded him he possessed. And it was clear Mr. Ryland was at his wit's end, about to crack at any moment. If Stan's body was left in the woods to rot, well, it shouldn't take long for his family and friends to find him. For officials to find out what happened and arrest Mr. Ryland.

On the other hand, if Stan did make it out of this alive he would have one hell of a story to tell. He wouldn't want to rush into telling it but he could hope to return to a normal enough life if he survived. Scarred and battered and sick but he'd make it through. He was a Gryffindor after all. So even if the outcome seemed bleak, Stan had to keep reminding himself that things were going to be over soon. That either way, he would win and Mr. Ryland would lose.

_May 7__th_

_Don't give up, don't give up, don't give up_, were words Kyle had found himself repeating in his mind over and over again as of now. Not only for Stan but to himself as well. He couldn't give up hope that he was still alive out there even if the evidence contradicted that. It's not as if he really had any real reason to believe he was still alive. The 'live feed' had been proven to be on a loop. It didn't stop himself or Sharon from watching it every chance they could. The police had made a raid to Mr. Ryland's home a few days ago and didn't come back with anything substantial. Of course as Kyle predicted Mr. Ryland was no longer there. The fact that he was now 'on the run' was clear evidence that he was guilty. The police thought so too, unfortunately they couldn't make an arrest if they didn't know where he was. Plus as horrible as it was to hear, the evidence was still deemed circumstantial at this point. Kyle tried getting more information about Mr. Ryland when he went to his day camp that Sunday but the other counselors there couldn't provide him with much information. Only that Mr. Ryland had been working at the camp for three years now and seemed to get along well with everyone there. He didn't warrant anyone to be suspicious of him at least.

And then there was the Marsh family. Kyle kept in contact with Shelley almost daily now. The latest she reported was that her dad had finally cracked and said how he wouldn't be going to work anymore either until Stan was found. Kyle suddenly felt his phone vibrate. He looked down to see that Shelley just texted, informing him she would be over in five minutes. Kyle sighed and rubbed tired eyes, getting very little sleep the past week. There was a knock at the door. He assumed his mother answered for a minute later his door opened and Shelley walked in. Neither spoke for a minute.

"Hey," Shelley finally said.

Kyle could only nod and he faced her. The two of them agreed to meet and discuss things face-to-face since they hadn't in almost a week now. Ever since they found out the Stan video was a lie. Now seemed as good a time as any to talk of things even if they still felt as far away from locating Stan as ever.

Kyle cleared his throat. "So uhh, how's things… at home?" His voice was a little hoarse, not really using it much lately.

Shelley shook her head. "As bad as you'd expect. Dad's now the one sitting in front of the TV hours on end. Mom is still watching the video of Stan even though I told her it wasn't really live. I don't think she cares. I um, tried to cheer her up. Ask her what she wants for Mother's Day. You know, it's this Sunday. Bad idea. She only looked at me and said 'all I want is my baby'. I spoke with my grandmother that lives in California. She said she wants to be out here, as does my grandpa, to support us. But I don't think it will be a good idea. If anything my grandma will just sit there and cry with Mom and that won't help us any. If anything I'm surprised my mom is still trying to call Stan up every day. Even if he won't answer she still…tries," Shelley spoke heavily.

Kyle tapped a pencil as usual when in thought. "Shelley, do you know if there's an actual dial tone when your mom calls Stan's phone?"

"Yeah, I'm very sure. But haven't you called him up too since all this shit happened?" Shelley demanded.

"Yeah but honestly, I haven't in a while. It sort of slipped my mind. I began thinking of other things… but if his phone rings when your mom calls then that means his phone is still around somewhere. He still has it, or Mr. Ryland has it. Someone is still paying for it."

Shelley shook her head. "I know what you're thinking turd but all four of us- Mom, Dad, Stan, myself, are on some family bundle plan thing. All our phones are automatically paid every month. So unless there's no money in my mom's bank account our phones will automatically refill. There's… no way Mr. Ryland could be paying for Stan's phone to be in use."

Kyle looked at the floor now. "And how…are you doing?" he almost whispered these last words.

Shelley gave the boy a hard look. "Doing everything I can to hold it together for the sake of my family. With my parents walking around like zombies I have to be the sane one right now. Um, you turd?"

Kyle felt his eyes sting at that moment. He hurriedly wiped them. "Honestly I'm falling apart. Even though we all know it's Mr. Ryland we still can't get him. It's frustrating. No one seems to know anything about him. Plus it's been a week. A week since he made any contact with anyone. A week without any news and I'm scared. We- we saw how bad Stan looked weeks ago with that first picture of him chained to the bed." He sniffed loudly now. "I mean how long can he really hold out? I know he's strong but at the end of the day he's only a kid. And he's being starved or whatever so he's no match to Mr. Ryland. He- he could kill him easily. It probably won't take much to- to"-

Shelley went over and slapped the boy.

"Hey! What the hell?" Kyle spat, rubbing his cheek.

"Stop it already! You cannot fall to pieces damnit. I know it sounds stupid but I still think Stan's alive. I still have that weird feeling. Call it sibling intuition, whatever, but I still feel Stan's around somewhere. We just have to look up shit, dig deep in Mr. Ryland's history to find out who he is and where he is. More importantly, where Stan is. That's why I'm here right? Now let's fucking do this. I'm not leaving until we find something."

And so Kyle bucked up and nodded, feeling as if he didn't have a choice but to do so. He tried coming up with different words to type into his search engine on the computer. Nothing under 'Mr. Ryland sixth grade teacher.' Nothing with 'Mr. Ryland math tutor'. 'My. Ryland camp counselor.' Finally he was struck with inspiration and typed in something completely different than the rest: Ryland family- Park County Colorado. An article popped up that spiked his interest. He skimmed the first sentence before his jaw dropped.

"Sh-Shelley- I think I finally found something," he barely got out.

Shelley came over to look at his computer. Together they read the short obituary:

_Darryl Ryland Remembered_

_On January 14__th__ 2019 local Park County resident Darryl Clark Ryland died in his home in Middle Creek. He died from complications due to liver failure, amongst other health issues. He was 71. Darryl Ryland is remembered by his only living son, Perry Michael Ryland, 44. Darryl's other son, Toby, was reported as kidnapped back in 1985. Sadly the boy remains missing to this day. Darryl will be interred at the Middle Creek Fellowship Church and will be laid to rest at the Middle Creek Cemetery January 20__th__ at 10 A.M._

Kyle and Shelley shared looks of disbelief.

"Is this really the same guy though?" Shelley had to ask.

"Has to be. Mr. Ryland is in his 40s isn't he? That or he's aged badly. But this bit right here about his brother… hold on a sec…"

Kyle furiously typed in 'kidnappings in Park County Colorado 1985' into Google. Hundreds of results came up but Kyle knew there were probably only a few that would yield useful informaton. He clicked on the second tab titled 'Kidnappings in Middle Creek'. The website took him to an online database on old newspaper articles from the Middle Creek Daily paper. Another short article popped up from Thursday, October 10th, 1985.

_Local Boy Kidnapped in Middle Creek_

_When one thinks of the quiet town of Middle Creek Colorado kidnapping does not usually come to mind. Unfortunately tragedy has indeed struck this charming suburb Monday, October the 7__th__. While two brothers were playing at Spring Meadows Park, one of the boys was kidnapped. According to the elder brother, 10-year-old Perry Ryland, he watched as his younger brother, 7-year-old Toby, ran off to fetch a ball that had rolled into some bushes. When Toby didn't return in five minutes Perry began to worry and hurried home to alert his parents. Authorities have since been alerted and as of now, the search is on to find little Toby Ryland. Unfortunately no one could account for any suspicious persons at the park that Monday; however the town remains hopeful that the child will be found._

Kyle and Shelley shared sick looks. Kyle shook his head, tears in his eyes.

"How horrible. No wonder Mr. Ryland is fucking mental. His little brother was kidnapped years ago and was never found."

Shelley sighed, thinking about the heaviness of the articles they had just read. "Well, we know the motive now. At least, we know why he took Stan. He's some stand-in for his missing brother. But that doesn't give him the right to do this same shit to another family. How sick in the head do you have to be?"

Kyle felt his blood turn cold for a second. "I remember… weeks ago. When I was super sad about Stan's disappearance. Mr. Ryland had come over to me to see how I was. Again, I didn't know he was some evil monster. He was just some nice guy that worked at my camp that I could talk to. I told him I was upset since missing flyers were now all over about Stan. He didn't go into detail but he told me too that- that something happened to his brother when they were kids. So he sympathized with me." He shuddered. "It all makes fucking sense now. Everything."

Shelley gave Kyle a very serious look now. "We have to show this to the police. We have to begin an actual trail that will lead us to where this bastard is hiding and that will lead us to Stan."

Kyle drew in a breath and nodded. "Right. Let's go save Stan."

_May 10__th_

Kyle didn't want to make assumptions but after talking with the police and getting more information from them, he felt the time had come for everyone to gather their forces to go and search for Stan. After the information he recalled to the police, and after their own digging did everyone agree that there was no other place Stan could be. And so Kyle and Shelley easily skipped school that Friday in order to be a part of the raid. Shelley had to convince her parents that everyone had an almost-certain idea where Stan was. Ever hopeful but skeptical, Sharon and Randy hopped into an awaiting police car where they would hopefully, finally, be reunited with their son.

Mr. Ryland sat in the living room staring at the child that lay on the old sofa. His chest rose in a slow uneven rhythm. The man sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling extremely frustrated at this point. It appeared as if Randy Marsh was not holding his end of the deal right now. He had not given him what he wanted which meant only one thing- the boy would have to pay the price. Granted, he would have either way but at least things might have been slightly more justified had Randy come through on his part of the deal. Stan gave another painful breath. It didn't matter at this point; he was close to death anyway. Suddenly he jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Perry?"

Mr. Ryland groaned, not looking at his wife. "What the hell do you want?"

Charlene frowned as she stood over him. "What are we doing? What are you planning on doing with Stan?"

Mr. Ryland placed his hands to his mouth in deep thought as he looked at the boy. "His father has not responded to me in some time. At this point I can only come to the conclusion that I had about him from the beginning. It will make things difficult for the boy's loved ones but they had this coming."

"Perry, what are you going to do with the child?"

Mr. Ryland rubbed his eyes as they burned slightly. "I was so close Charlene. So close to helping him this time. Yet his father failed. Again. I don't want to kill him Charlene. Trust me."

Charlene looked troubled as she knelt down near her husband. "You don't have to honey. If you're doing this because of Toby"-

Mr. Ryland got to his feet in a quick manner, causing Charlene to fall back.

"Don't you _dare_ make that assumption!" he raged. "You don't know. None of you fucking idiots in this goddamn city know anything about that day. I can finally save him but still no one gives a shit. Still his father wastes away in his own fucking desires and leaves him to rot. Toby doesn't deserve that." Again, he rubbed his face as he now paced the floor. "It would be too easy to kill him right now. But I can't, not yet. I must have his father's word."

Charlene braved on. "But what if you never get what you want from his father? What will you do with the boy?"

Mr. Ryland sighed. "He will be killed no matter what." He shook his head. "Still, if only his father would come through then he could get something that I never had. At least he can have a body to bury."

Charlene blinked back tears. "He doesn't have to die Perry. He doesn't."

Suddenly at that moment there was pounding on the doors followed by the reflections of dozens of lights on the walls as well as police sirens.

"Perry Ryland! This is the Park County police! We have you surrounded! Open the door!"

Charlene and Mr. Ryland shared a rather blank look as he quickly gathered Stan in his arms and faced the front door.

"Perry you are surrounded by police! Give up Stan and surrender calmly," spoke the same booming voice on the other side of the front door.

Perry stood in front of the large bay window of the home, facing the evening sky and police on the other side of it. He held up a knife to Stan's neck. All the while Stan finally blinked heavy eyes open. Confused of what was happening but having no strength to figure it out.

Guns were drawn at the man as he held onto the boy.

"Drop your weapon! Come on Perry, do the right thing and drop your knife," spoke another voice on a megaphone.

"Not until I get what I want," Mr. Ryland hissed.

At that scene a hundred feet away Kyle stood with another police officer who was holding her cruiser radio to her ear.

"Well? What's going on? Is Stan in there?" Kyle rushed.

The lady officer frowned as she listened in to her radio. "Yes kid, it looks as if your friend is inside. Good work leading us here."

Kyle shared a smile with Shelley who hurried forward.

"Well? Why are we still waiting out here? Kill that fucker and get my brother back," Shelley demanded.

The officer, Officer Sathers, sighed. "It's not that easy kids, it appears Mr. Ryland does not want to give this up so easily."

Shelley glared but went back to where she was originally standing, where her parents were now standing by another police cruiser. "Mom? Did you hear? Stan's still alive, he's in the house. We're finally going to get him back."

Sharon's eyes were wide in shock, as if she didn't know how to feel. Which she didn't. All she wanted was to finally hold her baby again. All she wanted was for this to be over with.

7:44 P.M. The police had now been in an hour-long standoff with Perry Ryland. During this time Charlene had managed to escape out a back door without his knowledge. But Mr. Ryland was still holding onto Stan, now sitting in an armchair facing the bay window. He still held a knife to the boy as guns were aimed at him through the glass. Suddenly Mr. Ryland felt his cell phone vibrate. He glanced over to where it rested, on the armchair's arm. Still staring ahead, he answered.

"What do you want?" he growled.

"Perry, my name is Gary. Can I talk with you for a few minutes?" asked a calm voice on the other side.

"I have no need to speak with a negotiator."

"Let's just chat. You know you have a lot of people worried Perry. Nobody believes you would ever purposefully end a child's life. We spoke with some of your students, their parents. Faculty at South Park Elementary. Your fellow co-workers at the R.A. Minetz Jewish Day Camp. Everyone says that you are a very kind and generous man. Someone that works very well with children, who can speak to them at their level. Surely you see that in yourself. Surely you do not think you would intentionally harm the boy that is in your arms right now," Gary spoke in the same light tone.

Perry looked down at Stan for a moment. His eyes were closed again but he still heard him breathe. Good. "Things change _Gary_. Circumstances being I cannot let this boy go so easily."

Gary paused for a minute. "Say there Perry, perhaps you could do something small for Stan. I have his mother standing by. Would you allow Stan on the phone for just a few seconds so his mother could say 'hello' to him?"

Perry snarled again. "No we will not have any of that."

"Okay, okay, forget I said anything." Gary looked over to where Sharon was standing, hopeful. He held his own phone to his chest. "Sorry Mrs. Marsh."

"Can I talk to him?" Kyle asked.

Gary raised a brow before he looked at Shelley. "Maybe you can help me out Shelley?"

Shelley looked unsure at this suggestion but sighed and nodded. She took up the phone to speak to Mr. Ryland. "Can I please talk to my brother?" she said in as even a tone as possible.

Mr. Ryland stared hard out the window. "No one gets to speak to him." With that he hung up.

"Damnit, your plans suck so far _Gary_," Shelley sneered.

"Don't worry everyone," Gary reassured the Marsh family and Kyle. "We'll get him talking again. I just have to try another tactic…"

8:51 P.M. Mr. Ryland's cell went off again. He let it ring for a few seconds before placing it to his ear.

"Perry, may we ask just what is it you are trying to gain from this?" asked Gary.

Perry squeezed Stan closer to him. "Give me Randy Marsh."

"I'm sorry?"

"Let me speak to Randy Marsh."

Randy looked confused as the negotiator handed him the cell. "H-hello?"

"Good evening Mr. Marsh," the smooth voice of Mr. Ryland answered back.

Randy was already seething, very familiar with the sly voice that had been plaguing him and his family all this time. "What do you want?"

"Why I wanted to hear your voice in particular tonight Mr. Marsh. You are the reason things reached as far as they had," Mr. Ryland was relatively passive as he spoke over the phone.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Just let my son go already you sick son-of-a-bitch."

"All in good time." Mr. Ryland smiled as he looked out the window. "Let me ask you this Mr. Marsh: do you have what I want?"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh? Do you not remember the e-mails I sent you? The phone calls I made? You have something I want to hear Mr. Marsh. The sooner you realize what that is the sooner you will see your son."

Randy rubbed his eyes as he began pacing himself. "Look, I don't want either you or me to do anything stupid. Just let me have my son. Give yourself up, this can all be over."

"You don't deserve your son Mr. Marsh. Therefore you will not be getting him quite so easily."

"But"-

"Think Mr. Marsh. Think hard. Good-bye."

9:30 the phone rang again. Mr. Ryland picked up. He was still sitting in the armchair with a strong hold on Stan's limp form.

"Do you have what I want?" was the first thing he asked.

"Perry, this is Gary. Let's just talk for a few minutes okay?" the man said gently.

"We are done talking. The only voice I want to hear is that of Randy Marsh. Him telling me what I need to hear."

A minute later Randy took up the negotiator's phone. "What the hell do you want Perry?"

"Think man. _Think_," Mr. Ryland said furiously. "Why are you here? Why do I have your son? What do I want to hear?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I only want my son back safety but you aren't giving me anything to go off on," Randy was beginning to sound very desperate now.

Mr. Ryland got to his feet in swift moment; guns drew up as he moved but no one shot anything.

"Admit it! Admit it you fool! Admit what a horrible excuse of a father you are to your children!" Mr. Ryland said wildly, eyes blazing.

Randy, on the other side of the chaos, had his mouth open in shock. "Wh-what? _That's _what you want me to say? That's what you want from me?"

"Admit it! Say it loud for all to hear!"

Randy glared as he flipped off in the direction of the house. "Fuck you! I would _never_ admit to something so disgusting. Who the fuck do you think you are to even make that assumption?"

Mr. Ryland laughed in the same manic way. "Who am I? I just happen to be helping you along Randy Marsh. Let's think back shall we? Let's backtrack. Perhaps to sometime in April. Care to recall something that took place then?"

Randy looked behind him where his wife, daughter, Kyle, and other officers were.

"I- I don't know what the hell this lunatic wants you guys. Help me," he looked into their faces, concerned beyond measure.

"This is all on you Mr. Marsh," Mr. Ryland spoke again into his cell. "Remember, the sooner you admit to things the sooner your son can be released back to you. Look at your wife, you're destroying her. All she wants is to hold her child again. Let her. Admit it."

Randy felt anger roll into his body yet again. "Leave my wife out of this! I'm not admitting I'm a horrible father. I love my kids. If I didn't I wouldn't be here would I?"

"Oh any father can turn up when his son is in danger, but only a real father would know their child's favorite home-cooked meal."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Or how about when their child first began walking? Or what he wants to be when he grows up? Do you even know when he was born? Well? Ringing any bells?"

Randy began walking around again with the negotiator's phone in hand. "Oh, so because I don't know the exact time my son was born I'm an unfit father? What the fuck man? That proves nothing."

Mr. Ryland sighed heavily as he sat back down. Stan's eyes parted open again as he made a painful swallow.

"True, that just scratches the surface." He looked down at the child in his arms now. "Ahh, your son is awake again Mr. Marsh. Perfect timing. I want you to admit it, admit what a piece of trash father you are. And to top it all off- explain to him. Explain to him how you still took part in something last month. A sort of contest if you will."

Randy's mouth was open, a thousand things he wanted to say but didn't know what to start with. His eyes then went wide when he realized just what exactly this man was talking about. "Oh. Ohhh, that."

Mr. Ryland smiled in a sinister way. "Ahh yes, remembering are you? Tell Stan, Mr. Marsh. Tell your boy how you still submitted your own beer recipe for the Coor's Light Homemade Beer Contest. Tell your precious son that even though he was missing, that even though no one knew anything about his whereabouts, your main priority was to still submit your beer recipe in on April the 17th. Tell him." The man held the phone up to Stan's ear.

Stan was vaguely aware of what was being said by his captor. Something about the beer contest. He knew that's where things would circle back to. Did his dad really still submit his entry even after he had been kidnapped…?

Randy said nothing as he stood there, mouth agape like never before. He lowered the phone he had in his hand.

"Well? What is it?" Kyle asked.

Randy didn't answer, just continued to stare off at nothing in particular. He heard a voice on the other end. He brought the phone back to him.

"H-hello?"

"Dad?" rasped the voice back.

Randy felt his heart constrict. Tears instantly filled his eyes at finally hearing his son speak in so long. "Staaaaan! Stan it's Daddy. Stan, talk to me."

"…won't let me…go. Just… end this. Please," Stan barely got out before the phone was ripped away from him.

"I won't! I won't admit I'm a lousy father. So what if I submitted the beer recipe after you were kidnapped? You are still my son and I love you. Stan? Stan?" Randy called back.

"So you admit your priorities were that of your own personal gain and glory over finding your son?" Mr. Ryland interrupted.

Randy growled as he began pacing. "I'm not going to admit I failed in my duty as a father. If that's what you want you fucking asshole I will never say it. My son knows I love him. Yes I sent off my beer recipe even after Stan was kidnapped. But I am not a lousy father."

Mr. Ryland was growing more and more frustrated as he held the knife close to Stan's eye now. "You are all the same. Washing your priorities every day behind a bottle instead of putting your families first. You are all the same. And the fact that you won't even admit guilt about it is sickening. You feel as if what you do is not harmful. That your children don't wish their father would put the bottle down for once and focus on them. You see Randy Marsh; this is what happens when you focus more on your beer instead of your children. When your own son is in harm's way you do nothing. And the fact that things have gotten as far as they have now is the proof. For that you will say good-bye to your son tonight."

He made a move to slice Stan's throat- as guns were drawn up yet again.

"Wait!" Randy suddenly cried out, hurrying over to where the police were circled around the front of the house, ignoring their calls for him to stay back. "Listen Mr. Ryland, or should I say Perry? I- I do admit it. I admit I fucked up. Focusing on the beer thing instead of trying to do all I could to look for my son. That was a boneheaded thing for me to do. But I love my son. At the end of the day he's still my boy. My pride and joy." Tears filled the man's eyes now as he calmed down, speaking as carefully as he could to be understood. "Yes, I drink. A lot. I know my family wishes I would stop at times. But it's who I am. And I know my son is okay with it. _He_ knows it's who I am. I can't promise I'll go cold turkey but I love my son enough to try. So I don't know who my son looks up to? What after-school activities he's in? I get it, as a father I come up short with the small things in parenting. But so what? That's where my wife excels at. That's what she's there for. I love my son but honestly, I could care less when he loses yet another baby tooth. I just let my wife take care of that shit so I can cheer my son on when he wins a football game. And he never questions me about those things."

Randy's heart filled with emotion the more he spoke. "I was the one who took my boy to his swimming lessons when he was six. I taught him how to swim. I taught my son how to throw a football. Pitch a baseball. Swing a bat._ I'm_ the one who taught him how to play guitar. I was the one who introduced him to the wonderful world of boy scouts. _I_ was the one who held my son down when he was six when he had to get stitches for the first time. _I_ was the one who held him down when he had to get shots for kindergarten. Heh, I can still remember how much he loved when I ran around the house with him on my shoulders when he was little," he grinned slightly. "He loved his 'Rocket Rides'. I spent countless sleepless nights with my son when he was a baby. Rocking him. Changing stinky diapers. Talking on the phone at midnight with the pediatrician, trying to figure out that one weird rash he had while my wife was out of town," Randy passed off. "So I don't know all the details in Stan's life. He's my son. As soon as I cut the cord when he was born… it was the most amazing thing. When he took that first breath, when I first held him…" Randy sniffed as memories and emotions took hold. "He was this tiny thing. Only a couple hours old. I was so afraid I'd hurt him. He had this tiny little tube down his nose… but he instantly felt safe and secure as I held him."

Mr. Ryland was standing as he looked out the window, saying nothing as the man spoke.

"I fucked up plenty the past ten years of his life. The past fourteen years I've been a father. I'm not the best by a longshot. But there is one thing I am certain of: my love for my son. Stanley. And _that's_ how I know I am good father. I don't need some 'quiz' to tell me if I am one. I know you wish you could have reconciled with your own father before he died. That's why you're holding out in his old house now. But I am not your father and Stanley is not your brother Toby. Please, don't let another family go through the same pain that you did as a boy. Please, let my wife and I take our son home. Alive. Please," Randy finished.

As he spoke Stan heart constricted with grief; he had heard everything. Mr. Ryland had placed the conversation onto speakerphone. He was so close… so close… _just a little longer…hold on for just a few more seconds_… suddenly he felt the hold on him grow lax and the next thing he knew he was dropped to the floor. The sound of glass breaking as officers crashed through the bay window. His eyes were closed by this point. A voice spoke over him- a female's saying things he didn't understand. It didn't really matter, it was over. It was all over finally. He must have passed out for a few minutes. When he did crack open his eyes he realized he was on a stretcher and being guided along the driveway to an awaiting ambulance. He strained his eyes, searching. He saw his mother's face through the haze of people. She hurried over, pushing an officer out of the way. His heart swelled as she said something in the same distance voice. She kissed his face exactly six times.

"Easy now Stan, we're going to take you on a little ride to the hospital, okay?" spoke a paramedic to his left.

"Do you want Mom or Dad to come with you on the ride there sweetie?" asked a female paramedic.

Stan opened his eyes wider, looking around. "D-Dad?" he tried saying but had no energy to. Thankfully the next second his father's face appeared.

"Stan, oh Stan…" Randy said heavily before also bending down and kissing his forehead.

"Stan sweetie?" asked the nice lady paramedic.

"Dad. I- want…Dad…" he whispered.

Randy gave Sharon a look of disbelief but she nodded and Randy grinned slightly.

"Sure thing pal."

The ride to the hospital was a bumpy one. Stan was aware that he was covered in a nice warm blanket. The first paramedic, a man, was asking him questions as he looked him over. Stan of course could hardly answer to anything. He just tried to focus on his dad who was currently holding his right hand. He didn't say anything, just held his hand.

The paramedic, Matt, was moving some things around as he looked down at him. "You're pretty dehydrated right now Stan. I'm going to start you up on a saline drip to help you out, okay?"

Stan drew in a shuddered breath. "Please, wanna- wait…"

"Stan, you don't really have a choice, you're really sick."

Stan squeezed his eyes tight for a moment, hoping they would understand. He tried forming the number 'two' with his left hand. His dad took notice.

"What's that you're trying to say son?"

"…two things. Wanna do. First."

Randy bent down to hear him speak.

"Want… bath. Brush teeth. See… Dr. S-Steels. Feel…d-disgusting. Please. Please," Stan rasped as the words tore his weak body up.

Randy chuckled as he rubbed the boy's shoulder. "Understood pal. I do. I'm sure you probably do feel like crap. And look it, no offense." He looked over to paramedic Matt.

Matt nodded. "We'll get you cleaned up and looked over really well when we get to the hospital Stan. Promise. But is it okay if I give you some medicine until we get there? You're really sick and the sooner I help you out the better you'll start to feel. How does that sound?" he asked gently.

Stan hummed but gave a slight nod. He had his eyes closed again as Matt went about to start up the IV. He didn't want to be picky but he wanted to feel clean as soon as possible. He knew he stank. His teeth hurt. But at this point he was too exhausted to ask for such things again. He just allowed the paramedic to do what he needed as he finally drifted off to sleep, making sure he never let go of his father's strong hand that held his own, reminding him that he was finally safe and sound.

_The time has come, Stan's rescue! I had the final showdown and scene of this chapter played out in my head from the beginning. I always knew it would end in some showdown where Randy had to talk down to Mr. Ryland, who was holding Stan, captive. And later, the ride in the ambulance where Stan requests his dad to be there with him. There is still one more chapter left so please stick around. I also have a brand-new chapter story in the works at the moment so hopefully I can begin it soon after this one is completed. Please do leave reviews. As today _is_ my birthday… extra reviews to this and my other stories would really make me happy! Thanks a lot._

_Lots of love: Rose, November 25, 2019_


	12. Learning to Heal

**LEARNING TO HEAL**

_May 11__th_

Stan could not recall having such a difficult time resting in a hospital bed before. He had thought the worst time was indeed after he had been rescued from his cave-in with his friends when he was nine. Yes, that was quite the story- four boys survive cave-in for four days! But at least there were times he was left alone. Hours after the rescues when his parents were driving up to meet him at the hospital. And after they saw that he would be fit enough to return home in a day, they left him alone to rest. Now however… there was always someone there. His parents, friends, doctors, and a slew of media people with their stupid cameras and notepads in hand. How was he to rest with any of that?

Of course it was hard to do so with his body the way it was. Since he had been brought into the hospital the night before he had been examined and poked and prodded and looked over countless times. It was all to be expected in his mind but it didn't make any of this easier. The worst of it happened early that morning. The doctor in charge of his care, Dr. Captole, had walked into his room along with another doctor when the sun had barely come up. His parents had fallen asleep at their son's bedside but awoke when the man stepped in with another doctor.

"Is something wrong?" Sharon looked at the man with wide worried eyes.

"I just wanted to ask Stan here a few questions. Is that okay with you Stan?"

Stan sighed and shrugged a shoulder; he could still barely talk so didn't see the point. Dr. Captole seemed to take this as a yes and nodded to the kind older lady doctor next to him. "Stan, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Whitman. She's a special kind of doctor. I'll allow her to take over."

Sharon and Randy looked nervous as they watched the woman approach their son, a faceless doll in her hand. She took out a hand to shake the boy's limp hand. "Good morning Stan. My name is Dr. Trish Whitman but you can call me Trish if you'd like. I wanted to ask you a few questions concerning Perry Ryland. Now these questions might be of a tough subject matter so would you feel more comfortable if Mom and Dad were here with you?"

At this Randy got to his feet. "Now hold up a second, are you suggesting that"-

"Please, it is mandatory we find out everything that happened during the 43 days that he was held captive," Dr. Captole held out a hand.

"But, but he wasn't… right?" Sharon squeezed her son's hand.

"We have to ask," Dr. Whitman spoke again.

Stan hadn't said anything throughout this. Again, the doctors took this as a sign that he didn't mind if his parents were there.

"Now Stanley, during your time with Mr. Ryland, did he ever touch you in any way that made you uncomfortable?"

Stan's eyes burned at the mere thought such a thing took place. "No," he rasped.

"Okay. Did he ever touch you here? Or here?" she gestured to a few spots on the doll.

Stan's chest burned as he forcefully spat out, "_No_."

"Okay. Did Mr. Ryland ever treat you differently than the other children in class? Perhaps he gave you special attention, or maybe gave you a gift?"

"No."

Dr. Whitman nodded. "It's okay to feel scared Stan. If Mr. Ryland told you not to tell anyone a secret he told you then"-

"N-nothing. Like that happened," Stan barely got out. This caused the machines that were monitoring his vitals to start beeping. Sharon and Randy grew upset at this and Dr. Captole, alarmed, signaled the interview was now over.

This happened four hours ago. Stan knew the doctors had every right to ask such things but it still made him angry they had asked those questions. He was telling the truth, nothing like that took place in the basement. But as he had just been rescued not even a day ago, people were still trying to piece together just what went on under the eye of Perry Ryland. Mr. Ryland wasn't saying much of anything at the police station and Stan could hardly talk without feeling as if his lungs were about to burst. Again, he didn't feel up to going into detail about things either way. It not as if he felt ashamed about what happened, he just didn't want to think about the dark thoughts he had had the past month and a half. He finally had his mother and father there by his side and that's all he needed at the moment. Well, that and a bath and his teeth to be looked at…

All kinds of doctors had been coming into Stan's hospital room since he arrived last night. Someone to look at his overall body. His state of mind. His lungs. His kidneys. His injured ankle and other limbs. He had gone through multiple x-rays, blood draws, CT scans, and ultrasounds already. Again, Stan knew it was necessary but he still felt so dirty and had yet to be bathed. He was also a little surprised no one had come in to look at his teeth since he complained they bothered him. Then again he would only want Dr. Steels to be the one to do that anyway. The one person outside family and friends he trusted most. Kyle knew this naturally, but Stan never told anyone else. Who was really 'close' with their fucking dentist? Maybe if he hadn't seen him at Buffalo Wild Wings a few times now and hung around with his dad to watch the Broncos or the Rockies play, then play catch afterwards…

Currently the on-call doctor was busy going over Stan's injured left ankle with him and his mother. He had with him a laptop where the images were uploaded. One of the first things they did when he was admitted was take in his weight- he was now at 59.10. He had lost thirteen pounds since his kidnapping. He had also been diagnosed with chronic dehydration and acute kidney failure. He was on multiple medications for his ailments at the moment. He wondered what else this doctor was going to add to the list.

The blond-haired doctor went to go over the file at hand. "Good news is Stanley did not break any bones from his injury. Which is remarkable considering he was chained up for as long as he was with a deteriorating body. However it will take some time before he gains full usage of his left leg. I will place his joint in a soft cast for two weeks to give it time to heal. Afterwards I would like him to start on physical therapy. And not only for his ankle, he will need to start on gaining back his strength as soon as possible," the doctor explained. Even though Stan never told anyone he had been chained up the doctors put two-and-two together when looking over at the video surveillance of him that was sent to his parents.

Sharon nodded, rubbing tired eyes. "Yes, okay. Thank-you doctor."

Once the man left Sharon turned to face her son. She walked over and took hold of his hand and sat there, rubbing it for a few minutes. Stan closed his eyes and let out a low hum, feeling happy and content in the presence of his mother finally. He knew he must have worried her to no end and he hated knowing that. He caused his mother to worry about him often and for many of those incidents he knew what kind of trouble he would be in when she finally found out. This time however he was doing everything right and still ended up paying the price. He just had a knack of attracting trouble no matter what. Kind of like Harry Potter. The thought made him grin slightly. Sharon took notice.

"What's on your mind sweetheart?"

"Nothing. Just…thinking."

Sharon squeezed his hand.

"Mom… when d'you think I can…have a bath?"

"Hmm, I'm not too sure honey. I know there are still a lot of things the doctors want to look over. Proper diagnoses that need to be made. I'm sure once everything is certain then you can have your bath."

Stan groaned. "I want one _now_. I know I…stink."

Sharon smiled sadly. "Soon baby. You're still too weak to bathe yourself. I'm sure a nurse will be the one who comes in to give you a sponge bath."

Stan groaned again at the thought of some ugly old bitch of a nurse coming in and stripping him down to bathe him. It happened all the times in movies and TV shows. Maybe he'd ask his mom to just do it for him which would also be embarrassing. Sure she was his mother and had seen him naked thousands of times but not really at the age of ten…

Sharon squeezed his bony hand again. "Stanley sweetie, I think your sister would like to see you soon."

Stan's eyes snapped wide open now. "What?"

"She's been worried too. I think she would like to see you."

Stan glared as his eyes slowly traveled down to his other hand. "She doesn't care."

"Stan please. I know she'd like to visit you. I know she's been worried about you."

Tears pricked Stan's eyes; all he could think about in relation with his sister were the horrible memories he had of her growing up. How she purposefully gave him paper cuts. Tried drowning him. Tormented him about his first dental filling. Horrible memories he was forced to relive while in Mr. Ryland's 'care.' Stan reached an unsteady hand to wipe at his eyes.

"Not now Mom. But I want to see…Kyle again."

Sharon sighed but nodded. "Let me call up Sheila and see if he'd like to visit."

Sharon stepped out of the room to spot her daughter waiting in the waiting lounge of the Pediatric Intensive Care Ward. Shelley got to her feet but Sharon held up a hand.

"Sorry honey but he doesn't want to see you yet."

Shelley opened her mouth in protest. "What the hell? That stupid turd. Doesn't he know that I"-

"I know you've been a big help throughout all of this Shelley. But your little brother just went through something pretty traumatic and nobody even really knows what that was yet. Just give him some time; I'm sure he'll warm up to seeing you soon."

Shelley tried not to look too bothered by this as she watched her mother go off to give Mrs. Broflovski a call. Shelley went over to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat, knowing there was nothing she could do but wait around at this point.

It was around dinner time when Kyle stopped by. Kyle could only shake his head as he opened the door to the recovery room and looked at his best friend. Lying in a hospital bed hooked up to IV bags and various machines and such. Many balloons and gifts surrounded his bedside already. Once everyone found out that a little boy had been saved from a monster of a man there seemed to be no end to the well wishes from said public. And the one that Kyle had with him in his hand right now was the most important. At least, that's what he had been told. This was exactly the image Kyle had had in his mind for weeks now. Yes Stan was very weak and it would take a long time until he would be back to his old self but this was the beginning of all that. It meant things could finally reset and he didn't have to worry as much anymore.

Kyle gave a small cough next to his friend, who appeared to be asleep. Stan cracked an eye open.

"Hey dude. Is this a bad time?" Kyle asked.

Stan shook his head 'no'. He slowly reached over and fumbled with the bed remote on his right side. Kyle rushed over to help him recline the bed to a sitting position.

"Hey Stan. Had to see you again today before visiting hours are up. How are you?"

Stan shrugged. "I'll be okay. E-eventually. Thanks for coming." He looked at the gift that was in his friend's hands. "What's that?"

"Oh this? Well actually it's- well some people got together to pitch in for it. Not really sure who but word got out that you'd like this. Before I walked in here some news reporter handed it to me and told me it's from a few locals. Um, if you wanted to open it…" Kyle set the gift onto Stan's hospital bed.

Stan inspected the box that was wrapped in wrapping paper decorated with footballs. His fingers trembled as he tried to tear off the ends of the package where it was tapped up. He struggled as the gesture bothered his right hand where a clasp was wrapped around his pointer finger, monitoring his vitals. Kyle thankfully went over to help him open the present. Stan's eyes went wide when he saw the gift staring back at him. The App-controlled Lego Batmobile. The toy that was at the very top of his wish list.

"What…? How-?"

Kyle shrugged. "I don't know Stan. But hey, this is pretty cool huh? I know you've wanted this for forever."

Stan slowly moved the box around as he inspected it. "Yeah, this is sweet. Wow. Thanks."

Kyle smiled. "This isn't from me dude. Don't worry, my gift it to get you on your feet as soon as possible. I'm going to be there to help out in every way, all right?"

Stan sighed as he set the Batmobile to his side. "Kyle… I still don't know how…you knew. There's still stuff I don't…know."

Kyle nodded slowly back as he finally took up a chair next to him. "Yeah, there's a lot I don't know either. But when you're ready to hear, I'll tell you everything. And I can only assume the same for me."

Stan nodded. "Yeah. When I have the st-strength." He frowned as he looked out to the amber sky out his window. "What day is it?"

Kyle smiled and took down the calendar that was hanging in the hospital room. He held it up to Stan and pointed out, "It's May 11th Stan. Saturday."

Stan looked at the calendar and frowned, staring at the month. His stomach then flipped when he noticed something written down on the following date. "Aww man, tomorrow is…already M-Mother's Day?"

Kyle sighed and took the calendar away. "Yeah. Honestly I haven't given it much thought this month. Guess I should go out there and get my mom something for tomorrow."

"Damn…my mom's gonna- kill me I didn't get her something," Stan spoke, rubbing tired eyes.

"I highly doubt that dude. Just focus on getting better, okay? By the way, how's the grub?" Kyle nodded to a bag that was hanging on Stan's right side where a tube led to his stomach. He had been placed on a tube-fed diet since his organs were too weak at the moment to properly digest food.

Stan moaned out his answer. "Let's just say… I'd rather be having a cheeseburger at the m-moment," he grumbled.

Kyle laughed and it brought tears to his eyes; he had missed this. Laughing with his best friend. It felt good. The two chatted for five more minutes before Kyle decided to approach a touchy subject.

"So um, did Shelley visit you yet?"

Stan gave his friend a hard look now as he shifted in his bed. "No. I don't really feel up….to seeing her yet."

"Why not? Stan, she was actually a pretty big help during all this. I think it's important she come see you. She wants to."

"Pfff. I know how she- really feels about me." Stan's eyes burned as he said this. As did the back of his throat.

Kyle sighed and rolled his eyes. "We all know your sister is a bitch but c'mon man, she missed you. I know she did. She was really great during this fucking madness. Just- just talk to her. She… she's actually still here, hoping to see you before they boot us out at nine."

Stan's arms were crossed as he looked off to the side, mind thinking hard.

Kyle got up from his chair. "I'll go get her then, okay?"

Stan drew in a deep breath and nodded slightly. His door opened five minutes later. He didn't look to see who entered it but felt the person's presence as they stared at him from the front door. Shelley stood by the door for a couple minutes before finally speaking.

"How are you doing turd?" she asked flatly.

Stan didn't reply back. He closed his eyes as he heard her walk towards him. Memories began to flood his mind again.

"_Sh-Shelley! Stop please!" his eight-year-old self pleaded as she repeatedly dunked him under water at the hotel pool during their summer vacation to Santa Barbra._

"_I can do this aaallll day," Shelley sneered as once again she forced him under the water._

"_Sh-heaauuggglll…" he gurgled as he went under and his mouth filled with water and his lungs cried in protest._

"Stan!"

"Huh?" ten-year-old Stan snapped back to the present world to see his sister standing to his left.

"I asked how you were doing like, ten times."

"Oh." He still didn't answer but his non-answer seemed good enough for her. Again, neither brother nor sister spoke for another full minute. Finally Stan had a question for her. "How's… Lupin?"

Shelley rolled her eyes. "He's fine."

"What did M-Mom and Dad do"-

"They found a cage for him. You know that old one that was in the basement? The one that had that hamster you had when you were five? Well your stupid rat is in your room now in that cage and is fine."

Stan frowned. "He's a mouse."

"Same thing."

Stan looked down at his hands as she spoke. When he was being prepped for an IV drip in the ambulance last night the paramedic was given a fright when he saw a rodent crawl out of his pants pocket. Lupin had stayed by Stan's side the entire time he was being held captive by Mr. Ryland. Sure he went about to look for food during nights when Mr. Ryland had gone off to sleep but the majority of the time he stayed next to the boy, crawling into his pocket whenever it sensed trouble. Stan had explained to his startled father and the paramedic the mouse was his friend and to not kill it. Thankfully Randy seemed to understand this and after the paramedic handed over a small empty box to the father did Randy promise his son he would take the mouse back home and that it would be safe.

Stan sighed deeply as tears stung his eyes, so many things on his mind. He really didn't want to fall apart in front of his sister, not after he was forced to relive so many awful memories with her. Shelley took notice of his tears.

"What is it?" she asked in an odd, almost concerned voice.

Stan sniffed and shook his head. "Can't believe it. T-tomorrow's Mother's Day and I didn't get Mom any-anything."

Shelley grinned back at him. "Stupid turd, I don't think she'll care. After all she told me having you back was all she wanted."

"Still… I want to get her something. But I'm stuck in here t-till who-knows-when."

"Stan, it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does, it's our mother you _bitch_," Stan glared back at his sister, speaking one of the first full sentences with much clarity.

Shelley rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Okay, fine. If it really means that much to you I'll let you sign the card I got for her okay?"

Yet again the siblings left the room in silence. Stan wanted to say many things but didn't know what. At the same time Shelley herself had some things she wanted to ask but didn't know how to go about it. But since she was the older of the two and her brother had just gone through…something… she felt it was her duty to speak up first.

"Why didn't you want me to visit you turd-breath?"

Stan played with a loose thread on his blanket now. "You know why…" he whispered.

"C'mon Stan, let's not go there right now," Shelley said heavily.

"No we are," Stan spat. "Why didn't you call?"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Mom, Dad, Kyle… our gr-grandmas all called. All the time. I got o-one lousy phone call from you," Stan rasped last few words and held up his shaky left pointer finger.

Shelley's arms were crossed now. "What the hell are you talking about you stupid turd?"

"You only called once. And pr-probably because Mom and Dad forced you to."

Shelley dropped her arms to her side again and sighed. "Stan, listen, that doesn't mean that"-

"It-means- everything," Stan said in a dramatic tone before letting out a deep sharp breath as he sank into his pillows.

"Stan…"

"Admit it. You were f-forced to. Now that I'm back you're pissed. Sorry for sp-spoiling your plans," Stan struggled on as tears burned his eyes.

Shelley glared at him. "You're wrong you idiot. I'm your sister; I _was_ upset you were missing."

Stan just looked down as the tears enveloped his vision. He sniffed and rubbed his nose as memories flooded his mind.

Shelley sighed impatiently. "I did miss you in case you haven't noticed. It's not as if I wanted you to die while you were gone. Oh come on!" she snapped when he let out a soft sob. "Stupid idiot turd-brain, you're my brother. My little brother which means that yes I will always think you're an annoying fucking waste of space but it also means I care about you. About what happens to you. If for one moment you thought I was glad you were gone all this time then it's _you_ who needs to do some re-thinking and reflecting and shit," Shelley pressed a finger hard into his temple.

Rethinking and reflecting. All he _had_ been doing the past several weeks. Stan sniffed again before he felt a tear escape his eye. He pressed his eyes hard together and a hand to them, trying to stop more from coming. All it took was one hand on his shoulder from his sister for that plan to crumble and soon he was crying. Shelley didn't say anything, nor did she go over to hug him. She just left her hand on his shoulder as he let go of some of whatever horrors that were taking over his mind.

"What's wrong Stan?"

Stan reached over to the bedside table where tissue sat and blew his nose. "Sorry, just thinking. Nobody knows…"

"Knows what?"

Stan drew in a shaking breath but slowly pulled up the sleeve of his hospital gown on his left side. A large purple bruise sat on his shoulder.

"What the hell happened there?" Shelley pointed out.

"I haven't told an-anyone yet. No one really knows what he did to me. Yes he- he starved me. C-chained me up. But he also…" he swallowed the lemon-sized ball in his throat with difficultly.

Shelley was quick to her feet. "That fucker didn't"-

"No. I already had to- to tell that to another doctor this m-morning." Stan closed his eyes and drew in a breath. "He sort of forced me to- to see things. Relive things. Some shot he gave me. N-numerous times."

Shelley looked a little confused as her brother spoke. "I don't understand."

"I know, it's odd. But ev-everyone keeps asking about this b-bruise. Mom and Dad. Doctors. But I'm not r-ready to tell them. Not now."

Shelley gave him a weary look. "What about"-

"Not even Kyle," Stan spoke across her. Shelley's eyes widened for a second before she looked off to the side. "Promise me you won't t-tell them yet. Please."

Shelley looked down at his helpless, dirty, pale face. And nodded. "Yeah, sure thing turd."

_May 12__th_

Stan awoke in a frustrated mood that next morning. It had only been a day and a half and he was ready to go home but he was nowhere close to reaching that goal in his current state. He couldn't eat, walk, move, or have normal bodily functions yet and it was driving him crazy. Any other time he had been confined to a hospital bed he was able to do something. He was able to get up and about on his own two feet, or at least help himself into and out of a wheelchair. He could eat normal food or talk normally. But this was the first time he really was almost completely helpless and he did not like that. And the two things he had asked for way back on the ambulance ride to the hospital after he was rescued still had not happened and he was feeling very fed up at this point. He currently had found himself crying in front of the nurse who had come in to give him his first tube feed of the day. The nurse, alarmed, peaked out of the room and then returned.

"Stan sweetie, Mommy and Daddy just arrived. Do you want to see them?" asked the young nurse.

Stan nodded and seconds later he felt his mother swoop down at his side and place her hands on his shoulders.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"N-nobody's listening to me! I just want a fucking bath but no one will let me have one," Stan moaned.

Sharon and Randy shared a look.

"Oh, well um, it's too risky right now son," Randy spoke. "You're hooked up to so much; we don't want to unhook you from something."

"I feel like complete crap. I just want to bathe and brush my fucking teeth. Please, can't you do something?" Stan looked to his parents.

His parents ended up talking to his primary care doctor during his duration at the hospital and he agreed that Stan could have a bath- taken care of a very skilled nurse to reduce the risk of messing up the IV lines and such he was currently hooked up to. So later that morning Stan was taken out of his hospital room and down to a special area where patients could be bathed if they needed assistance. Stan ended up being bathed while sitting up in a chair in a shower-like stall and in a way one might bathe a baby. The kind nurse went over his body with a soapy rag very gently as well as his hair. The entire process lasted for almost an hour but Stan was very grateful for it and in a much better mood once it was done. After, he was taken back to his room where his mom helped him brush his teeth. They still did feel gross and grimy but at least his breath didn't stink quite as much.

As of now he was resting in bed, his family sitting in the room with him watching the TV.

"….there has been little change in the Stanley Marsh case," spoke a TV reporter on the news.

"Randy, not now," Sharon said in an exhausted tone.

"I just want to see what they say," Randy nodded to the television.

"The child was safety recovered nearly two days ago yet no one knows for certain just what went down in both Perry Ryland and Darryl Ryland's homes. If you are unaware, little Stanley was recovered from Ryland Sr.'s home during a nearly four-hour long standoff. There is speculation however that Perry starved the boy and chained him to a bed. For more information on the case I will bring you to our field reporter, Nikki Glamner. Nikki?"

The face of a pretty Hispanic woman appeared on the screen. "Thank-you John. I am standing just outside the Park County Medical Offices where I have just received some new information and possible motives behind Perry Ryland's actions."

Stan couldn't fake it anymore, he opened his eyes. "Turn it up," he whispered.

Shelley, who was sitting at his left, looked over. "Why?"

"Please." Randy did so.

"While there is of course doctor- patient confidentiality, we have been told by Perry's wife, Charlene, that her husband had been seeing a therapist for the past several months. It is unknown what the discussions entailed however Charlene did tell us that after Perry's father passed away earlier this year he signed up for therapy. Since Charlene is a licensed physiatrist, she knew it was a healthy resource for her grieving husband. And we now know as well that Darryl Ryland actually passed away January 14th, his son, Perry's, birthday."

Stan's eyes lit up at this. "Damn…"

"Looking deeper into the Ryland family our media sources discovered that Perry Ryland's mother passed away in 1988 from a car accident. His own brother, Toby, was kidnapped in 1985 and to this day the boy's body has not been recovered or his whereabouts known. It is safe to assume that those events led to his actions two days ago," Nikki shook her head, feigning sadness.

Stan sighed, looking out his window. "Turn it off, please." Once he heard the television click off he looked back at his parents. He rubbed his tired eyes. "Mom, I'm really sorry."

Sharon looked alarmed. "Sorry about what sweetie?"

"This. All this. It's a pretty shitty way to spend Mother's Day."

Sharon smiled sadly and took hold of his hand. "It's fine Stan. You're here and alive. That's all I could have asked for."

"I guess… I still feel bad though."

"Shelley made me a good breakfast this morning and she get me a book I've had my eyes on for a while. And once you're all better, we'll go out to eat and celebrate, okay?"

"Actually… Mom, Stan _does_ have something for you," Shelley suddenly said and got to her feet.

Stan and Sharon both looked confused as they watched Shelley go over to the table at the far end where dozens of gifts sat from all of Stan's family, friends, and supporters. Since he hadn't opened any of them yet Stan found that the gift his sister reached for blended in with the pile, as if it had always been there. Shelley handed the gift to her brother. Still confused, Stan shrugged and passed it along to his mother.

"Um, here you go Mom. Happy Mother's Day…"

Sharon smiled as she pulled out the tissue paper in the white and purple flower bag. Inside was a mug with the words Mama Llama written on it as well as a picture of a smiling colorful llama and her calf. Inside the mug was a bag of coffee with the words 'Nutz over Chocolate' stamped across it as well as a bag of various chocolates from Sweet Sensations Candy Shop in the mall.

"Oh Stanley, my favorite flavor of coffee from The Jolly Coffee Bean! And chocolates. And this mug is darling. Thank-you so much sweetheart," tears filled Sharon's eyes as she bent down to give her son a wet kiss.

Stan smiled back meekly. "Umm, sure. No problem. Happy you like it then."

When Sharon's back was turned to show her husband the gift, Stan gave Shelley a relived look.

"Thank-you," Stan mouthed to her.

Shelley only smiled back before making the suggestion that they leave him so he could rest some more. He fell into a restful enough nap once his family left.

_May 14__th_

Kyle was very excited once the bell rang, signaling the end of school for that day. There was only one thing on his mind, the same thing every day since May 10th. Visit his best friend in the hospital. There was no ignoring the bright smile on his face as he walked down the halls after class.

"Say Kyle, visitin' Stan again today?" Butters asked, joining him.

"Of course. I do so every day."

"Pfff, fags," Cartman retorted.

"Oh just shut it you fat fuck. You're happy Stan's back and alive and you know it."

"Is he getting better?" Token asked, also following after the boys.

"Yeah. Little by little. Um, listen, I'm sure you're all concerned and I know he'd really like to see all of you but I think it's best if just I saw him today. He was kind of, well… he kind of was dealing with some things yesterday so I'm not sure it's best you came to visit right now. But I know he did like the huge card everyone in class signed for him. I'll tell you the latest later, okay?" Kyle tried shaking his friends off and successfully was able to hop into his mother's car where she thankfully drove him to the hospital. As soon as Sheila drove to the front entrance of the hospital Kyle sighed deeply at the sight waiting him: dozens of people with their cameras, phones, and notepads out, ready to strike as soon as he stepped out. Well, this wouldn't be the first time. He promised his mother he would call her later to be picked up before he stepped out the car- and indeed people came running towards him, all talking at once as their cameras went off.

"Kyle! Are you about to visit Stan today?" asked one reported.

"Obviously," Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Kyle, when is Stan set to be released?"

"Is Stan walking yet?"

"Do you regret ever talking to Mr. Ryland?"

"How did Perry Ryland treat you at the Day Camp?"

"Is it true that Perry Ryland was using your friend as a replacement for his own kidnapped brother?"

"Are you going out with your best friend's sister?"

"Stop! All of you stop hounding me and leave me alone!" Kyle raged.

"Do you know if Stan liked the Transformers set I sent him?" asked one reporter raising his hand in the air that held a pen.

"What? Who the fuck even are you? All of you, I'm done talking, now leave!"

Thankfully security guards finally stepped in and allowed Kyle to walk into the hospital entrance without being followed. He had to sign in at the Pediatric Intensive Care Ward before he was allowed to visit Stan. Once he did he quickly hurried to his room, knocked on the door, and then went inside. Stan was currently working with a physical therapist in doing simple movements with his fingers and hands.

"Oh um, I can always come back," Kyle thumbed behind him.

The therapist, Dr. Yu, smiled at both boys. "Actually I was just finishing up. You did very well today Stanley. I will see you tomorrow, okay?"

Kyle watched as the pretty Asian lady left the room. He smiled at his friend. "Dude, I didn't know you were starting therapy already."

Stan shrugged as he adjusted himself in the wheelchair he was sitting in. "Hardly. Just trying to get a feel as to what I can and can't do. So far the list of can't is a lot longer."

"Oh. Well knowing you it's only going to take a few days before you're back on your feet anyway."

Stan grinned meekly. "I wish. It's going to take a lot longer than that. According to my doctors walking is going to be the last thing I relearn. I just hope I'm out of this wheelchair by the time summer comes."

"Yeah, that would really blow if you're in it any longer than that. Still, it's really cool they're starting you on therapy dude."

"My doctor wants me to wait but I can't. I'm feeling restless, fed-up, and pissed off," Stan grumbled.

Kyle looked down for a second before looking up. "Stan, you know we went over this yesterday. What happened to you- whatever happened to you- sucked. I can't imagine not being able to eat, sleep, walk, or poop normally right now… but it's not good to rush into things. You still have a lot of healing to do. And not just physically."

Stan stared down at his hands with a subdued expression. "I'll be fine," he said shortly.

Kyle rolled his eyes at the usual stubbornness from his best friend. "Think that all you want but you went through something pretty horrible Stan. You will need to talk about it eventually. You will have to tell us what happened. You will have to explain what the hell is up with that weird bruise on your shoulder."

Stan instinctively reached a hand to his shoulder.

"Things will reset yet again, I promise you. But you have to heal first. And soon enough Mr. Ryland will go on trial and will be sentenced. The police have already found out some things at his house as well as his father's house. I don't know what but I'm sure it will help sentence him to an eternity behind bars. But you _will_ be expected to give your word as to what happened to an attorney. You know that right?"

Tears burned Stan's eyes and he hastily wiped them away. "I just want to go back home and forget this shit already."

Kyle gave him a sincere look. "It's not going to be that easy Stan."

Stan sniffed again and before he knew it, was crying. Kyle hurried over and pushed his face into his chest, arm around his back as tears burned his own eyes. The two stayed like this for the next five minutes before a knock at the door broke them apart. Curious, Kyle went to answer it. On the other side of the door were two slightly older boys, one with wavy black hair, the other with short brown hair. The boys looked slightly familiar but Kyle couldn't place from where.

"Hey. Um, we were just wondering if it's okay if we spoke to you and Stan?" asked the first boy.

"Both of us? Um, okay…" Kyle stepped back and allowed the kids in.

"I'm Matt Learner and this is Aiden Pierceton," the first boy introduced. "We go to the R.A. Milnetz Day Camp with you Kyle."

Kyle's eyes widened at the mention. "Hey, you do huh? I knew you looked familiar."

"Yeah well, Matt and I wanted to give you and Stan something. It's been bugging both of us for a while now," Aiden spoke.

"You remember that Best Friends Day that took place a few weeks ago?" Matt asked.

Kyle frowned. "Vaguely."

"Do you remember the Best Friends Quiz we all did?"

Stan's ears lit up at this and he motioned for Kyle to help wheel him close to the boys. "That- I- I graded that." The three boys looked at him. "Yeah, I forgot exactly what happened. But Mr. Ryland gave me a quiz to grade. The Ultimate Best Friend Quiz. Said- said that you filled it out at camp…"

Kyle's heart leapt to his throat now. "No way dude…"

Stan shrugged. "I'm sure he threw it out after I graded it."

"You graded it?"

"He forced me to!" Stan's eyes darted to the older boys who were looking at him confused and even a little sad. "I spent forever grading it," he added softly. Kyle looked at him, expressionless. "You got a 49 out of 50 on it…" Stan mumbled.

Kyle beamed now.

Matt Learner coughed. "Yes, this is what Aiden and I were getting at. It didn't feel right, winning the prize after everything that has happened. And clearly you and Stan are better BFFs than we are," he motioned to Aiden. "So we both decided that you two are much more deserving of this." The curly-haired boy handed over two tickets to Kyle.

Kyle frowned as he looked down at his hand then back up. "Dude, we can't take this."

Aiden shrugged. "We know it is tainted because that bastard Mr. Ryland set this all up but still… we think you and Stan should get the prize. It would make us happy if you went instead of us."

"What is it?" Stan asked, trying to peer over his friend's arm.

"It's two tickets for the World Candy Convention in Denver," Aiden answered.

Stan's eyes lit up. "You mean the one happening on June 24th?!"

Matt and Aiden smiled back.

"Yeah dude, the same one."

"You guys, we can't take this," Kyle was saying.

"Dude, Kyle, it's the World Candy Convention! The last time it came to Colorado was in 1998! We have to go!" Stan almost begged.

"You guys have fun. Oh and Stan, hope you feel better soon dude," Matt spoke.

Stan smiled toothily back. "Thanks a lot you guys."

With that, the two eleven-year-olds walked out of the hospital room. Stan grabbed the tickets out of Kyle's hand first thing. "Wow, the World Candy Convention. And we both get to go! Haa, man, Cartman is going to be sooo jealous."

Kyle looked back to his friend. "You really don't mind going knowing that monster wanted us to win in the first place?"

"Does that really matter? Kyle, it's the World Candy Convention. Candy companies from all over the world will be there selling thousands of different things and we get to sample it all. It's every kid's dream."

Kyle shrugged but smiled as he took back the tickets. "Okay, we'll go. I'll hold onto them until then. Who knows when you're actually going to be released?"

At this Stan sighed heavily and became interested in his right hand. "If I'll even get to go…"

"What? Of course you will dude. You'll be out of here by then."

"Yeah but who knows how long I'll still be on this stupid thing," Stan spat, lifting up his hospital gown to the tubing sticking out of his stomach.

"Right," Kyle looked down.

"And will I still be in a wheelchair? I'll look like such an idiot if you have to wheel me around everywhere in such a crowded area. Not to mention my teeth still hurt and feel gross. What if once I finally get to go to the dentist, he tells me he has to do a ton of shit to me? I won't be able to enjoy any candy at all. I'll be eating through a fucking straw," Stan grumbled.

Kyle shook his head and chuckled. "I really don't think things will be that bad Stan. Yes your breath still stinks a bit but you really don't look too bad. And besides, I thought you liked your dentist? He's really into sports right? You did tell me before that he's not 'just another asshole in this town.'"

Stan glanced up, raising a brow. He cocked his head to the side. "Dude, the quiz you answered about me… I really didn't know you knew that much about me. Especially _that_."

Kyle lightly slugged his shoulder. "We're SBFs dude." Stan's eyes suddenly filled with tears. Kyle frowned. "What's wrong Stan?"

Stan drew in a breath, rubbing his left hand that held three IV lines. "I was wrong. Just now. I said you got 49 out of 50 questions right on the quiz. But I was wrong. You actually got 50 out of 50."

Kyle bit his lip. "What are you saying? What did I get wrong that you changed?"

Stan took his time answering. "You said that I belonged in Gryffindor House from Harry Potter. At first I thought you were wrong and I was kind of upset you placed me there. But- well… I really think I belong there now."

Kyle looked relieved and patted his back. "Dude, Stan, I wouldn't lie to you about that. You _are_ a Gryffindor. Perhaps with a touch of Hufflepuff."

"Hey!" Stan playfully tried pushing him away. "Thanks dude."

"Anytime Stan."

_May 23__rd_

Stan was feeling very grateful overall, he had finally been released from the hospital two days ago after Dr. Captole examined him and announced that his kidneys were finally functioning well enough and he was able to have normal-enough bowel movements again, yet he was still hooked up to the feeding tube. Since he was still too weak to get in and out of his wheelchair on his own, he had to have someone help him to the toilet whenever he had to go. It was better than the alternative- diapers. He refused to go down that road. His parents as well as Shelley had to learn how to give him proper feedings through the tube he was hooked up to as well, which made the family apprehensive at such a daunting task. Stan also had to take three different medications daily for his kidneys and overall health. To top it off, he had been assigned a physical therapist who would be helping him with various exercises at home five days a week. It seemed a little excessive for Randy and Sharon but Stan was determined to get his strength and normal abilities back. Plus their health insurance provided him with a great therapist so there wasn't any reason to complain in the end.

It was a great homecoming for Stan yet he still felt weirded out by it all. His mother had wanted to set up a blow-up mattress on his bedroom floor so he didn't have to risk rolling out of bed but Stan didn't find that necessary since he couldn't move around like that at the moment anyway. Plus he carried the usual sick bell with him everywhere he went. His mother normally gave it to him whenever he was sick in bed but it was now something to be used for every little thing. He had to use the toilet. Needed to get up from the toilet. Wanted to go downstairs. Upstairs. Couldn't reach something on the floor… Add onto the fact that even though he had been released from the hospital he was still too sick to go back to school and so Kyle would come over each day to give him homework as well as catch him up on lessons that he had missed.

And then there was the press. People were constantly camped out around the Marsh house, hopeful that someone inside would give out an interview. Tabloids and rumors of all sorts were being tossed around and Stan was getting increasingly annoyed. He so badly wanted to just forget about what he went through but every part of his life was still a painful reminder that it wouldn't be that easy. After his parents signed his release forms they were told it would be best for their son if he began to see a therapist of his own to help talk him through the 'trauma' he went through while locked up in Mr. Ryland's basement. Stan didn't think he needed one; he'd get through this shit on his own. Even though no one was giving him that chance he did not want to talk about this to anyone. He still hadn't told anyone else about the weird dreams and nightmares he was forced to relive. But he needed to and soon- the lawyer that would be representing him once Mr. Ryland went on trial told him he had to.

At the moment Stan was currently laying in his bed rolling a baseball in his fingers, a look of deep concentration on his face. He heard a knock on his door.

"Come in!" he called.

The door opened and Kyle walked in.

"Hey dude. Came by for your daily school report." He then turned to Stan's desk. "Hey Lupin," he greeted the mouse that was currently taking a drink from his hanging water bottle in his cage. He was still very curious as to why Stan named his mouse Lupin. The last thing he knew Stan hadn't read the Harry Potter books nor seen any of the movies. Stan told him he would explain his mouse friend sometime soon, but as with almost everything else, not just yet.

Kyle took notice of what his friend was doing. "Hey, look at that dude; you're getting really good at transferring things hand-to-hand. Good for you."

Stan shrugged. "My physical therapist, Justine, had me practice with a squishy ball earlier. I decided to just go with a baseball instead. I need to work on my fine and gross motor skills and I thought gripping a baseball would be good." Stan adjusted his fingers slightly and showed the ball to Kyle.

"Wow, that looks like a nice curveball right there," Kyle noted.

Stan rolled his eyes. "It's a changeup you dumbass."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Same thing. Anyway, let me fill you in for today. Well as far as actual lessons go Mr. Garrison had us begin a new story in our Ready Adventures textbook. Some lame story about this kid wishing it would rain in his town since he lives in the desert. We have to do the usual answer-the-questions thing by Thursday. Math involved some more fractions. In terms of the social scene, everyone keeps asking about you of course. Kenny was caught by the playground monitor looking up Ellie Croft's dress so had to go to the principal's office. Even though you two aren't dating Wendy still wishes you a speedy recovery and misses you. Oh, it was actually kind of cool. Just now when we got off the bus, a reporter was following us up the street. Cartman finally lost it and told the guy to 'beat it. He doesn't want to talk you fucking asshole!' So yeah, there's that," the boy in the green hat finished slightly amused.

Stan nodded and went back to rolling his baseball around in his hands again.

"Do you…want help sitting up? Do you want to sit in your wheelchair or desk chair?" Kyle frowned.

"No," Stan said shortly.

Kyle continued to watch him. "Stan, I don't know if you've heard. Apparently there's some people who are starting to say that they want to give exclusive interviews. People that worked with Mr. Ryland or his wife. Already there's a weird new case that opened in town. Apparently an undisclosed amount of a trial drug has been reported stolen from Park County's Pharmaceutical Lab. Some people are saying it's connected to your thing."

Stan took this time to close his eyes for a few seconds, as if to regain his composure.

"Stan…what did happen to you? Why was your arm so bruised when you were first brought in to the hospital?" Kyle asked carefully.

Stan opened his eyes again and began gripping his baseball again. "Not right now Kyle."

"You do know you'll have to tell someone. And soon. Otherwise Mr. Ryland might not be given as long a sentence."

Stan said nothing back but he did have a slight frown on his face now.

"Just saying… your arm was bruised in a way that might happen if you were injected with something. Take into account some trial drug goes missing at the same time… it just makes sense, you know?"

Stan still didn't speak.

Kyle sighed as he neared the front door now. "I know you went through something really horrible Stan. It still eats me up inside that my best friend was forced to live in a dark basement for over a month. That I couldn't help you out earlier. I- I spent many sleepless nights trying to figure this shit out. We all did. And now you're back! And it's great. But you won't tell us anything. I wish you trusted us. Your parents. Your sister. Doctors. Me. I know you are very frustrated that you aren't up running around eating chicken wings and soda yet. That must really suck. You're still in physical and emotional pain. I get that. But hopefully you find some of that Gryffindor courage inside you to move forward. Once you do, you'll feel ten times better." With that, he shut the door behind him.

Stan was now gripping his baseball harder than he had been able to the past week. He let it drop to the floor as emotions crashed over him in waves. He turned to his side and broke down, the weight of Kyle's words propelling his mind down a brand-new road. One full of love, support, and hope.

_May 28__th_

Stan was in better spirits that Tuesday. It had now been three days since he had the feeding tube removed and it already was making the world of difference for him. Yes he was still too weak to walk but at least he could eat solids on his own now, albeit in a structured diet so he wouldn't get sick. It had been so long now since actual food touched his lips he couldn't help but tear up during his first meal of mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and applesauce. It was all so delicious. Now that the only thing holding him back was his weakened muscles, his mother finally felt it was time to take him in to see the dentist. Stan was only too grateful. Even if he could clumsily brush his teeth on his own now, he still knew it was best to be checked out. Stan had asked his mother if there was a way she could take him in later on in the day so as to avoid all the eyes of people if he arrived in his wheelchair. Thankfully when they arrived at 4 PM that afternoon no one else was in the office.

After the initial x-rays were taken Stan sat around in the dentist chair, scrolling on his phone. When the sound of beads rustling was heard from the faux door of the room and the blond head of Dr. Steels stepped in, Stan turned his phone off. The man glanced at his wheelchair folded up in the corner and at the boy with a sad smile. He had his arms crossed for a second before going over to shake his hand.

"Hey there sport. How are you doing today?"

Stan shrugged as he shook back. "Indifferent."

Dr. Steels chuckled. "I'll give you that. You don't hear that word too often do you? It's really great to see you again Stan. I- well all of us here were really worried not long ago. We're really happy that you're back and, well... are indifferent."

Stan couldn't help but smile back. "Everyone keeps telling me as long as I tell the truth about the shit that happened then I can finally push this all behind me."

Dr. Steels nodded. "Well I hope you get to do that soon then."

Stan frowned as he stared at his folded hands now. "People keep saying I'm a hero. It's annoying. I didn't do anything but survive."

The dentist sighed and shrugged. "Well everyone has a different idea of what the term 'hero' means Stan. But if I may add in my two cents: any child that can go through a kidnapping and starvation and Lord knows what else- and come back as accepting and unfazed by those things as you are, is a hero in my book. You know it's okay to take some credit in your own survival Stan."

Stan sighed and pinched his nose for a second. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying to both work through things as well as forget them. But thanks dude."

Dr. Steels nodded and patted the headrest of the chair the boy was sitting in. "Well then son, it seems as if you hadn't been able to brush your teeth for over a month hmm? I'm sure you're feeling kind of grossed out by that. Let's go see just what we've got going on here…"

Stan ended up staying in the chair for over an hour while he had a deep cleaning performed. He also had a small cavity as well but his dentist said he'd wait to fill it next week to give the boy a break. In Stan's own mind he had made up a check list of things he wanted to be done before he felt he was completely healed and ready to move on for good. The next thing he felt would probably be the toughest yet he had to do it, his future and the fate of Mr. Ryland rested on it.

_June 4__th_

While the majority of his recovery was tough the part that Stan felt was the toughest was to occur that day. He had finally agreed to talk things over with a therapist. And since he was still under the age of eighteen he was allowed the option of having his parents in the room with him if he wanted. At first Stan was very against this but then he was struck with a thought: if his parents were present during his session with the therapist it meant he didn't have to relive what happened during his time with Mr. Ryland with them at a separate time. Add onto the fact that anything he said to the therapist today was going to be recorded and used as evidence in the case against Mr. Ryland he felt compelled to go through with this. And so Randy and Sharon drove their son out to a therapist in Middle Creek named Dr. Oles who supposedly worked really well with children. Yes there were licensed and capable therapists in the Park County Medical Offices in town but so much of his kidnapping seemed to be tied to that place that Stan wanted no part of it.

And so Stan met with the nice lady that afternoon. In Dr. Oles' office was an assortment of paper, pencils, crayons, markers, blocks, dolls, and toy cars in case he couldn't express what happened with words alone. Stan appreciated the gesture but knew it would be best to simply talk. And so he took up a seat on the comfortable couch that was in the room to tell all he could as his parents sat in chairs close to him.

"Now Stanley, did Mr. Ryland ever make you feel unwelcomed or uncomfortable before he kidnapped you?" asked Dr. Oles, concerned eyes hidden behind sharp black glasses.

Stan sighed as he rolled a baseball in his hands (he was finding this his new stress relief). "Well, I did get bad vibes from him my first tutor lesson with him."

"You did?" Randy gasped. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I did! I told you and Mom I didn't like my first lesson with him but you just passed if off like no big deal!" Stan said wildly.

"When you say 'bad vibes' what do you mean by that?" Dr. Oles asked.

"I dunno. He looked at me a lot. I could feel him staring when I was working on math problems. Then he asked me about my dad's progress with the whole 'make-your-own-beer' contest thing one time which I found really weird." Stan shook his head slightly. "I should have said something before."

Dr. Oles pulled a strand of her curly red hair behind her ear. "Now sweetie it's not your fault what happened."

"I know but I've seen so many crazy things, have been around so many horrible people in my life already. I should be able to sniff out a monster immediately by now."

Ten minutes later the therapist asked him about the day in question that he was kidnapped. Again Stan spoke of how M. Ryland made things uncomfortable during the tutor session and how the man had him stay behind once the lesson was over for some 'extra help'. Again, tears burned his eyes as he thought back, feeling like such an idiot for not seeing the signs that this man was a threat. But at this point Mr. Ryland already had plans to use him and would have kidnapped Stan in some way if spiking his fruit punch didn't work. Time went by. Once in a while Stan had to pause for a drink of water and to compose his thoughts. He spoke of how Mr. Ryland chained him to the bed, of how he taunted him with playing voicemails left by his loved ones, have him question his own relationships with those he loved, and give odd answers to questions he pulled from a hat. Stan spoke of how Mr. Ryland gave him a meager portion of food once a week if he was lucky. That he had to use a bucket as his toilet. But the worst of it all, his dreams.

"Dreams?" Sharon frowned, looking down at her son.

Stan was now lying back in the couch in a semi-upright position. He instinctively rubbed his left shoulder even though the ugly bruise that had been there before had long disappeared.

"I- I didn't know what was going on that first time. I broke one of his rules I think. I dunno, it was a while ago. But he gave me this shot. I didn't know what it was." Stan swallowed the lump in his throat. "I was scared. This horrible man could have just given me a shot of poison, how would I have known? But then I had dreams. More like nightmares." Stan rubbed his nose and took a sip of water. "I- I was forced to relive things…"

"What kind of things son?" Randy looked at him, frowning.

Stan rubbed his shoulder again. "My worst memories. Mainly memories concerning those I love. He- he made me think- s-second guess"-

At that moment Sharon took him in her arms where he broke down. He so wished he could get over all of this, he had been through worst things before, surely! But perhaps the reason why this hurt so much was the fact that it was just him and him alone. Only he was forced to be chained to a bed and starved and drugged. Many of the other times he was in trouble he was with his friends, or things were happening around him in such a fast manner he didn't have too much time to react. But now he had been through something that weakened him physically, emotionally, and physiologically. Something that made him wonder if the people in his life actually loved him. He had nothing but time to think about everything in life up to that point. Something that despite his best efforts, he could not press 'forget and reset' on as quickly.

The session with the therapist lasted for close to three hours. Stan did have the option to spread the sessions out to one hour long ones once a week but he wanted to get everything he could out that first session. He probably would need to visit with Dr. Oles again soon, as well as meet with his attorney, but the bulk of what needed to be said was, and Stan didn't want to admit it to Kyle, but he did feel slightly better after talking. Now all that was left was to put Mr. Ryland on trial and convict him. Only after that point could Stan move on.

_June 14__th_

It was over. All over, at least in his mind. Yet as soon as Stan stepped into the house with his parents there was a knock on the door. Stan sighed as he had just begun the process of loosening the striped tie over his neck. Thankfully his dad went over to answer it. It was a man with a briefcase.

"Hello Mr. Marsh. My name is Vince Illagio. I work for Real Time Movie Studios. May I have a word with your son?"

Randy shrugged and turned to his son who gave him a very dark look back. Randy turned back to the man.

"What the hell? No! Get the fuck off my property!" With that he slammed the door in the man's face.

"I wish they'd stop this shit already," Shelley commented as she took out the headband that was in her hair.

"Really," Stan said exasperated. "I've already said no to five other movie studios, a Netflix special, and three book deals. I'm over it."

"Well if another asshole turns up I'll take care of it," Shelley said threateningly, flexing her fist.

Stan nodded as he slowly got himself out of his wheelchair to move to the couch. He had been gaining strength back in his lower extremities although still couldn't walk properly since his left foot was wrapped in a soft cast. Since he obviously needed both feet in order to learn how to walk normally again, he was stuck in the wheelchair still. Although being his stubborn self he would limp around on his good right side even if it was slow going. He sighed as he flipped on the TV.

"Want anything?" Shelley asked.

"Maybe a sandwich. And some root beer please. Can you"-

"Add mayo and just a touch of mustard. Ham, Swiss, lettuce, just three sprigs of onion, and salt and pepper. I know," Shelley finished his thought.

Stan grinned. "Thanks dude." His sister had been pretty civil, borderline nice to him since his rescue. Maybe she wanted to prove that she did care for him and was afraid of his wellbeing when he was gone. Whatever the reason Stan welcomed the change for he knew it wouldn't last much longer. As soon as he'd be able to walk around on both feet again she'd be throwing him down the stairs again. While his sister was making his lunch and his parents were upstairs discussing things he couldn't help but reflect on the day he had had already.

It had finally happened- Mr. Ryland was to be convicted that morning. According to the attorney it wouldn't take too long. Apparently Mr. Ryland was to plead guilty and appeared remorseful while he was awaiting trial in his jail cell. And again, since he was still a minor Stan wasn't required to attend, yet he wanted to. Yes there was a chance no one would want to hear from him, nobody ever believed the words that came out of the mouth of a child but he still had to be there. Look that man in the eye as the jury found out exactly what had happened. And once it was over and he was found guilty, Stan was glad that he had gone. He had learned a lot from the trial, he almost felt bad for Mr. Ryland. Apparently the man grew up resenting father after his little brother Toby was kidnapped as a child. Shortly after the kidnapping, his mother had died. And his father made little effort to be there for his son as the years went by. He didn't put much effort into searching for his missing son nor mourn over his dead wife and all the while, he drank away his problems. And once his lousy father died due to liver problems on his son's birthday it sent Mr. Ryland over the edge.

According to Mr. Ryland, he had sought out Stan for he felt his own father resembled his. A 'useless drunk bastard' that 'didn't care about his family.' The fact that Randy still focused on his beer recipe while his own son was missing was proof. And Stan was the stand-in for his missing brother. To see how long it took before his dad did something to try and find him. All in all, Perry Ryland was angry with the world that they seemed to stop caring about his missing brother and the way to show his anger; he kidnapped the boy who he saw his younger self in.

At the end of the hearing Mr. Ryland took to the stand and apologized for his actions. Stan didn't really buy it; the man's face was relatively blank as he spoke. But it didn't matter in the end, that awful man was guilty and would be spending many years behind bars. How long? Stan didn't know, the sentencing trial would be in two weeks. And he didn't need to be there. His part was over. Stan could finally start to put this crap behind him.

_June 24__th_

"Mom! Stop! I'll be fine," Stan protested as his mother fussed over him that morning. Kyle was looking on, an amused smile on his face.

"I just want to make sure you'll be okay. Anything can happen. I packed all you might need in this front pocket," Sharon spoke, patting the front of his blue backpack.

"I'll be fine."

Sharon frowned as she looked her son up and down before turning to her husband. "I don't know Randy, maybe he should have his wheelchair, just in case."

Randy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know Sharon, if he says he's fine then we have to trust him."

Sharon pursed her lips in disproval. "I know, I'm just worried. It's only been a week…"

"Please Mom, let me be," Stan spoke more towards the floor than to his mother's face. "I know you're worried but I've been doing really well. Even Dr. Davies said he's really happy that I'm doing so well. Remember?"

Sharon nodded, tears in her eyes. Stan rolled his eyes but gave her a small hug.

"I will be okay today Mom. Promise. Now can I _please_ go? Kyle's waiting."

Sharon kissed his cheek and wrapped her bathrobe close over her body. "Have a good time then boys. Don't gorge yourselves too much."

The ride to Denver took three hours. The doors opened at exactly eleven and Stan wanted to be one of the first ones there. Once they arrived at the large conference center Randy stopped the car. Stan groaned. Great, now his dad wanted to stall time too!

"Boys… just- just be careful today, okay?" Randy said, a look of concern that Stan wasn't used to.

"We know Dad," Stan said.

"Don't talk to any weird people. Don't follow them in their car or bus or jet or whatever. And Stan, take plenty of breaks. Kyle, make sure he doesn't overdo it."

"I know Mr. Marsh," Kyle was looking annoyed now too and hopped out of the car.

Stan was just about to follow suit when he turned back to his dad. At that moment he felt like he wanted to tell him so much but didn't know just how to say it.

"Dad?"

"Yes son?" Randy turned back around to the backseat to face him.

Stan looked at his hand before looking up again. "I just wanted to say… thanks. Thanks."

Randy's eyes filled with tears as if he knew the meaning behind the simple word. He nodded. "Go on you rascals. Have fun. Oh! And if they have anything with chocolate and cherries, hit your old man up!"

Stan waved a hand in goodbye and walked with Kyle to the front. Stan hurriedly took out his phone to capture a picture of the giant sign on the convention center: WORLD CANDY CONVENTION. Kyle and Stan each took a few more pictures of themselves up front before Kyle turned to his friend, the two tickets in his hand.

"Well dude? Ready?"

Stan held out a hand. "Wait!" He looked up at the blue sky with a few clouds in the distance as he stood in the warm summer sun. Felt the slightest breeze wisp over his face. His stomach rumbling with excitement for it knew it was about to be rewarded with candy. His instinctively moved his left ankle around before placing his foot back down on the concrete. He ran a hand under his trademark hat to feel his now thick, healthy black hair. He smiled and nodded.

"Ready dude!" And he hurried and raced after Kyle to the front of the line.

End.

_*sniff* Another story finished. It has been wonderful to work on this. This could have been two chapters but I had it in my mind- 12 chapters for this story from the beginning. If you weren't aware, I wasn't sold on the idea of Stan being kidnapped when I was first asked on the idea but once I combined it with a drabble I had saved in my laptop for years- Stan getting tutoring for math, I knew I had something. I admit, it was tough coming up with certain details for this one so knowing this is finally complete is a good feeling. There are still some details I left out about Mr. Ryland, the trial, and what happens with Charlene. But I wanted to focus more on Stan's healing than trial stuff. If you would like to know more, send me a PM. I do have a new chapter story in the works but it might not be ready until January. In the mean time I finally can focus more energy in a couple one-shots I've had sitting around for the past few months so be on the lookout. If ya'll have any ideas do tell. You never know, I might be inspired like I was just now!_

_Well now it is time to bid farewell to another story, and also to another season of South Park. Please do tell me your thoughts on this chapter, and the story as a whole. They make my day. Thank-you so much._

_Lots of love: Rose, December 12, 2019_


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